Chapter Twenty-Seven #3
“She hasn’t texted,” Nick said, muffled into the ground. “She said we would stay friends! She didn’t text me until I canceled on book club!”
“First you’re all, I don’t date, and then you’re screaming for her,” Jasper said, mouth right next to Nick’s ear as he shoved Nick into the ground. “Make up your mind, man!”
“Her!” Nick blurted. “I want her! I want to be the kind of guy who deserves her!”
“You are the kind of guy—”
“I am not,” Nick said, garbled and drunk and sick to his bones, still struggling uselessly. “She rejected me, man! My mate rejected me! I’ve always been alone, and that’s how it’s always gonna be!”
Jasper stared down at him. He looked annoyed, but there was something behind it. Pity, maybe. Nick twisted away from it.
Jasper sighed. “Come on, jackass. Let’s get you some water.”
Nick nodded, cheek scraping against the asphalt.
* * *
The next morning was brutal.
Nick woke up already groaning, his face still dark green from being shoved into the asphalt, his stomach threatening to empty itself all over the unfamiliar couch. He couldn’t tell how much of it was rejection sickness and how much was a truly wretched wolfsbane hangover.
“About time,” said a scratchy voice from across the room.
Nick lifted his head. Jasper was sitting on a futon, pulling his long dark hair up into a messy bun.
Morning sun streamed harshly through the windows, illuminating the tiny living room.
There wasn’t much in it—a dusty TV, an empty bucket, a giant set of dumbbells.
A tiny bookcase sat in the corner, heaped with yellowing sci-fi novels and a dying potted plant and old chapter books with cowboys on the covers, the kind of stuff a twelve-year-old would read.
Nick wet his cracked lips. “What’s . . .”
“You’re in my house, dipshit. It was closer.
Had to carry you across the damn threshold.
” Jasper walked over and flicked him lightly in the head.
“Come on, we gotta go to work. I’ll drop you off.
Your motorcycle is outside. You can pick it up after.
No way I’m letting you drive. You’d still fail a Breathalyzer. ”
Nick rubbed his stinging cheek. His neck hurt, too. He reached down, nudging the bruise in bewilderment until he remembered Gerri sucking his neck in the stockroom.
A mortifying memory seeped back: standing outside Vi’s house, screaming his stupid heart out. Admitting to Jasper that she was his fated mate.
He groaned, sinking his head into his hands.
Jasper sighed. “Are you going to throw up again?”
“No. Jesus. Did Vi hear?”
“She was asleep. Thank god.” Jasper flicked him again, right in his thumping forehead. He reached down below the couch and came up with a water bottle Nick hadn’t noticed. “Really made a dick of yourself, man. Go have a shower. You can talk to her later.”
Nick let out a hollow laugh, uncapping the water bottle. “Like hell.”
Jasper put his hands on his hips. “Jesus. Alright. She’s your mate, right? That wasn’t some drunk shit you made up?”
“Doesn’t matter. She rejected me.” Nick chugged half the water and slammed the cap back on, screwing it into place with an intensity it didn’t deserve.
“You’re sure?” Jasper asked. “Like, you sat her down, and told her, and she told you to go suck eggs?”
“I didn’t tell her,” Nick admitted. “I didn’t need to. She said I’m not boyfriend material. If I’m not boyfriend material, I’m sure as hell not mate material. She hates fated mates anyway. It doesn’t even matter. I’d be a bad mate.”
“Maybe,” Jasper acknowledged. “Or maybe you’ll be really good. Like book club. And quiz nights. I was there for a few minutes of last week’s, and you were really good.”
Nick scoffed, throat aching. “I screw everything up. She’s right. I’m not meant to be a boyfriend. I’m not meant to be anything. I’m meant to be alone. Who am I kidding? I’m not . . . I’m not part of a community. I’m not part of shit. I’m quitting.”
He hung his throbbing head, future unfolding in front of him: home, work, movies he’d seen a hundred times before.
Turning down his coworkers’ invitations to come bowling or attend their kids’ birthday parties.
No friends, no helping out, no barbecues, no quizzes, no book club.
No Vi. No mate. The way things should be.
It was a relief. A horrible, empty relief.
Jasper didn’t look at him. His fingers drummed restlessly on his hips.
“Alright,” he started. “That’s the hangover talking.”
Something vibrated under Nick’s ass. He jumped, scrabbling underneath him and pulling out his dented phone from his jeans pocket.
Jasper continued, “Why don’t you take a shower—the world’s shortest shower cause I’m already late—and we can . . .” He trailed off as Nick’s expression changed. “What is it?”
Nick didn’t answer. He stared down at his phone. It was a text from Vi, short and polite and utterly devastating.
Hi, hope you’re feeling better today. I just wanted to let you know Triss will be taking over book club duties from now on. Thanks for your hard work. We really appreciate it.