Chapter Sixty-Eight

ROW

M y hopes Cal would be gone by the time I got back inside after my trillionth cigarette break were crushed when I stepped into my living room. Cal was still there, massaging Dylan's feet on the couch, watching some kind of a reality TV show with her.

"You're still here," I heard myself grunt. My default was to be mean to her if I couldn't have her. But even that was growing fucking old. Making her feel like shit no longer got my rocks off. Because making her come felt so much better.

"I was just heading back home." She stood up, readjusting her coveralls.

Don't offer her a ride. She's not your problem. She broke your heart.

"I'll give you a ride."

You never learn, do you, Pussy McWhipson?

"Thanks." She attempted a weak smile.

Dylan's laser gaze ping-ponged between us. She slowly chewed on a ZBar. "Keep your clothes on, kids. You don't want to end up like me."

Cal was already sailing across the room toward me before she glanced at Dylan behind her shoulder. "What are you talking about? You turned out to be the best."

"I did, didn't I?" Dylan flashed me a brave smile, and in that moment, I knew she'd needed it. That good word.