Page 132 of Hate You More

I scoff. “The kid’s thought process was that you pee out of it and the nuts are underneath.”

“Pee plus nuts equals penis. Near enough.”

Hannah reaches for her glass. “You really can’t rely on the word of someone who stuck a peppercorn up his nose to see if it would make him sneeze.”

“Hugo is who he is,” I reply prosaically.

“Oi!”

Peeling back my jacket sleeve, I glance at my watch.

“Naw, look.” He pulls the same face he does when he sees a puppy out for a walk. “The boss man is all eager for the little woman to arrive.”

“How’s it going?” Hannah’s gaze is, as usual, sharp. Not in the cutting sense but acute. It always feels like she’s seeing the things you don’t want her to.

“It’s going great.” Which is true. Or it was. I thought I had problems enough with the idea that she might leave now that she has her trust fund. I’m mean, she might still bail if things become too difficult. Or if I start asking questions she’s not ready for.

Fuck. My chest feels like someone has secured a steel band around it for some reason.

“That’s good. It’s nice of Clara to meet us here . . . so soon into your marriage.”

“She’s looking forward to it.” I mean, she might have. If I’d told her. “She wants to get to know you guys.”

“And we want to get to know her,” Hugo says. “She must be a top bird, given your timing and stuff.”

“Top bird?” I repeat, trying to decipher his meaning.

“Cool chick, in your speak.”

“She is amazing,” I say. I sound like I mean it, and maybe I do. I thought that about her once before. And she was. Until she wasn’t anymore.

For years the story has been simple. She didn’t choose me, and I paid the price.

But now? Fuck, I don’t know.

“I can’t believe you’re making her live through your reno,” Hannah says. “The floor space must be tiny, what with the ceiling caving in—”

“It didn’t cave in,” I say evenly.

“No, they pulled it down.” Hugh gives a snicker.

“Still, I’m not sure I’d like to live through it.”

“There’s method in his madness,” Hugh retorts. “He’s got a cozy pad just built for two.” He winks as though he’s on to me. “What time is this table booked for, anyway? I’m so hungry, my arse is beginning to munch my undies.”

“Nice.” Hannah’s tone says otherwise.

I say nothing as, at the end of the bar, Clara arrives at the hostess station. She looks up, and our eyes meet, her expression lightening in a way that I feel in my chest. She looks happy to see me. Like, really fucking happy and trying not to show the extent of it. I know how that feels because that between my ribs? It feels like the sun rising over a hill.

“I can’t afford to like you too much.”

She said that. And I fucking feel that.

“They’ve turned the bloody music up. Oontz-oontz-oontz.” Hugo’s bobbing head drags me back to the presence of my friends.

The light in me dims, my smile along with it. I shouldn’t have invited them. I don’t fucking want them here. I want her to myself. And maybe that’s exactly why I need a buffer.

As Clara crosses the space, I stand to greet her, then press a kiss to her cheek. “Hey, Tater Tot.” The diminutive sounds all kinds of low and gravelly as I pull her close.