Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ariana
You know the worst part of being in a room full of people who love each other?
That slow, crippling feeling that reminds you that you aren’t a part of it.
You aren’t a part of them. You’ll always be just on the outskirts, never truly a part of their thing.
Normally, that would be fine, but it’s when I start to realize that almost everyone here has someone, even beyond what they have as a group, that the stupid chasm of sadness opens up.
My eyes flicker toward Callum and Wyatt. They’re sitting elbow to elbow, arms pressed together casually, while Wyatt jokes with Declan. Callum, as usual, just observes.
Wyatt is in his element here, but he’s always been charismatic.
Callum glances at him every few seconds and you can physically see his thoughts on his face each time he does.
How his eyes lock onto Wyatt’s profile. How he drinks in his face, his coffee coloured eyes, how his gaze falls to his full lips, and then lands on his hands.
They always land on his hands.
They have a quiet type of love that I find myself drawn to.
Nobody really knows Callum. Carter says that all the time, but it seems like Wyatt knows every minuscule detail and every particle of who he is.
Wyatt knows if he puts the toothpaste on his toothbrush before or after he puts it under the water.
He knows his favourite condiments and snack foods.
Wyatt can read his body language so intricately that he could get a PHD in his existence.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Boston slides in next to me at the bar. He passes me a drink, which I have been waiting to order. He somehow noticed I switched to rum and Coke a couple hours ago. That’s interesting.
“Just thinking about how different love can look for different people,” I answer honestly.
His brows fly upward. “Okay, wow. Getting deep tonight.”
“I’d love to get deep with you tonight,” I counter, whirling around to put my back to the table and focus on my favourite pair of green eyes instead. He sighs, eyes flying to the ceiling at his mistake. “Is that something you’re interested in, Wedding Date?”
“I shouldn’t have asked,” he grumbles, popping his gum.
“Why not?” I ask, cocking a brow. “Because you’re terrified of me?”
Boston’s brow furrows, and he gets this interesting little smirk on his mouth. On his elbows, he shifts closer. “You think I’m terrified of you, sweetheart?”
I shrug, trying not to focus on how his long, black hair waves perfectly, or how thick his lashes are as he looks into my eyes. “Carter seems to think so.”
He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. “I’m not scared of you.”
“No?” I ask.
“No.”
Time to play.
“Then will you answer that question I asked you?”
Would you fuck me if I asked nicely?
That shakes him. Rattles him. It’s too easy.
His smile falls and he lets out a long breath. “It’s time to drop that one.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“But I’m your wedding date now.”
“You’re my plus one.”
I purse my lips, glaring at him. “Same thing.”
“Being my plus one changes nothing, Ariana. Doesn’t change who you are,” he reminds me, glancing at me as he leans against the bar.
Ouf. That one felt like a stab to my ego. My armour, too. I shrink a bit, my smile faltering. “You don’t like who I am?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
It sounded like that is exactly what he meant. “What did you mean?”
“Ari,” he says, letting out another long breath through his nose. He leans in closer and I follow him because he’s ridiculously pretty and I want to. “You are Forker’s sister. That fact is never going to change. You understand that, right?”
I push out my bottom lip, letting my eyes drop to his mouth. “He doesn’t have to know.”
He pulls back, signalling that I’ve taken it too far again. “Stop.”
“I am a very good secret keeper, Boston Black.”
“Not only do I not believe that, but it still doesn’t change anything. This shit would kill him. Even me answering that question. I know you enjoy poking me to see how far you can get but I’m never going to give you that answer and it’s never going to go any further than a plus one with us.”
“Wedding date,” I correct.
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
I don’t know if you know this about me, but I don't like being told no. I also don’t like when men lie to me, and there is no way you aren’t interested when you look at my mouth that often, Boston Black.
Liar.
His eyes flash with amusement. “Drop it. Alright?”
“Fine,” I agree, bringing my drink to my lips. “For now.”
“For good.”
I angle my head again. “I don’t like permanence. Did you not know that about me?”
His grin widens, and that simply, I know I’m still in the game.
He can say it’s not going to happen all he wants, but his tells are there.
His words sometimes trail off when we maintain eye contact.
He looks at my mouth when I speak. He tells me no, but then smiles when I keep pushing.
I’m starting to think that when he says ‘never,’ he means ‘never say never.’ He just can’t admit that part.
I’m not even looking for an actual thing between us. A man of Boston’s caliber is of no interest to me. I just like chasing things I know I can’t have. I need him to bend a little—to give me a tiny, little taste—and I’ll know that I won, and I can lay it to rest.
That’s when I’ll get over it.