Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 81248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
I won’t let Ezra drag West back into all that.
I drain another long drink of the wine Ezra’s ordered for the table, wishing it was something stronger.
I don’t like wine.
I don’t really like seafood, so of course we’re sitting at a seafood restaurant.
And I really, really don’t like feeling left out.
All through dinner, West and Ezra have been sharing stories from their hockey days. West is trying to include me by stopping to fill in details, his hand never leaving my thigh, but no matter how hard he tries, there’s a huge wall between them and me.
They’re so lost in stories of the past that neither of them has noticed I’ve almost finished this bottle by myself. I’m not feeling anywhere near as drunk as I’d like, but a headache is kicking in.
West is more animated than I’ve ever seen him. Sure, he’s playful and carefree with me, but there’s an extra layer to that with Ezra.
I’m trying not to let it get to me.
The wine disagrees though.
Maybe drinking wasn’t a smart choice, but misery loves company, and the alcohol is stoking that jealous fire burning in my gut. I almost want to drag West out to the car, push inside him, and take back some of the control I haven’t felt in days. To hear the gaspy way he says my name and remember that I’m the only one he wants.
Damn, West was right. I might as well piss on his leg and be done with it.
I go to pour myself another drink and remember the bottle is empty. There’s no way I can get through the rest of dinner pretending to be interested in fun hockey antics when every word out of Ezra’s mouth makes me want to roll my eyes.
I’m behaving like a child.
I’m well aware I’m behaving like a child.
But I can’t make myself stop. Jealousy is a cold, hard bitch.
I try to think of what Dave would do in this situation. He and Greg have been together for twenty years, but they’re still fiercely possessive of each other, no matter how much they like to joke.
That doesn’t help though, because when I picture Dave here, I picture him being so over-the-top, he’d kill Ezra with kindness.
So not my style.
Then again, I didn’t think simmering in a jealous rage was my style either, and here we are.
To think, I once asked West to set me up with Ezra. My high school reunion would have been very different had he done that.
“I’m going for a refill,” I say, pushing to my feet. That bitter voice inside me is screaming, “See? See!” when all I get is a brief nod from West.
It’s understandable he’d be wrapped up in these stories. It’s from a time he misses that was cut off too quickly, and West has already told me countless times he wouldn’t go back if he could.
He’s happy now. A deeper happiness than the superficial one felt in the NHL.
I order whiskey and have to force myself to only sip it instead of throwing it back like I want to.
“Someone’s jealous …”
I try to keep the annoyance off my face as I turn to Ezra. “Of?”
“Well, me. Duh. And look, no one blames you, but jealousy isn’t a good look, not even on someone as hot as you.” He holds up two fingers to the barman, who reaches for another bottle of wine.
“I’m not jealous.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m not the greatest out hockey player there ever was.”
I tilt my head. “Didn’t Ollie something-or-other win that cup thing?”
“Look who suddenly follows hockey.”
“West mentioned it.”
“I couldn’t tell,” he says dryly. “Way to hit me where it hurts.”
I sigh and turn to face him. “Why are you here? We both know you could have gone anywhere in the world.”
“Vermont was on my bucket list.”
“Do you think you can try and be serious for a moment?”
“Fine. I missed him. And before you turn all green and snarly, it’s nothing more than friends. I don’t have the commitment gene. West told me how he used to feel and made it clear those feelings are very firmly in the past. I feel like shit that I never picked up on it, and I wish I could take back what happened with his brother, but let’s face it, I’d just screw up some other way.”
Ezra says it in a flippant way, like he doesn’t care about being a fuckup, but if he didn’t care, why bring it up at all?
“You always talk about yourself like that?”
“For all my faults, I’m an incredibly honest person.”
And I don’t want to soften toward him, but the resignation there causes me to, just a little bit. “So you really don’t have feelings for him?”
“Swear to Gretzky. I needed to get away and see a familiar face.”
“Okay.” I pick up my drink and go to head back to the table, but Ezra grabs my arm.