Page 148 of The Score

I scoff. "That's because I'm used to your ugly mugs."

"Ignoring the lie in there," Saint says with a smile, "that implies you think Pen is pretty and you're not tired of it."

"Pen is objectively beautiful." I raise my eyebrows. "Just like Evie and Ames and Nat and every woman Dom has ever gone out with. Sorry Rafa."

"No offense taken," Rafa says.

"You definitely don't look at our better halves the way you look at Pen, either." Logan's mouth tilts with his version of humor. "I would have noticed."

"Of course I'm not looking at them like that!" I run my fingers through my hair.

"We know. That's the whole point!" Saint says.

"And you don't hug us like you hug her," Dom adds.

"If Leon had ever stared into my eyes the way he stares into Pen's, I would have noticed, too." Logan's joke comes out deadpan.

The evening is quiet. The summer day is long. No breeze comes to make the conversation gentle. Everything seems to be standing still up here on the rooftop, except for the direct interrogation my friends are putting me through.

We all laugh regardless.

"What does it mean that you look at Pen differently?" Rafa asks.

I take a deep breath. "She's my best friend."

"And she is…"

"My wife."

"And you feel…"

"Fuck, you guys are like hounds at my heels."

I break away from the circle. At the edge of the rooftop, I gaze out to the lake. My friends surround me and, this time, their stance is much warmer.

"You don't have to tell us," Damián says. "But you should tellher."

I shake my head. "That's not what she wants from me."

"But she married you?" Logan asks.

"And she kisses you?" Dom adds.

Rafa puts a hand on my shoulder. "And she looks at you just like you look at her?"

"Fuck," I mutter.

My chin lands on my chest. I close my eyes.

"Even if this is new," Damián says, "the friendship has already changed, for you to feel this way."

The ground has the marks of dirt mixed with old rain splatters, which no one has bothered to clean. I cast my eyes to the island across the lake, noting the houses, the trees, and imagining the lives of the people who make it their home.

"I've been honest with Pen," I say, "and as honest as I could be with myself. When I said we were friends, I meant it. I didn't go into it hoping for something else."

I gulp. A soft gust of wind blows through my hair, offering a reprieve at last. I stare at the water, with its million bursts of light on the surface. My friends study me, listening to everything I'm ready to reveal.

I sigh. "For nearly twenty years, I've talked to Pen about most things. Romance was the only thing we were careful with. Any time I dated someone, or she got her heart broken. Finally, I think I know why. I was afraid to admit what I felt… when Pen might never feel the same."