Page 27 of End Game
“For me?” She looks so surprised.
“Yeah, drunk-o, for you,” I laugh. “It’ll help sober you up.”
Her face melts into a smile. “Thanks, Bare.” She sucks on the straw and sighs happily. “Oh, that’s good.”
I like making her smile. I like making her happy. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her feel good.
“What do you have planned for tomorrow?”
She groans. “Nothing.”
“There’s a pilates class at the ASC that the guys and I like to go to.”
Diana grins. “You’ve been going to pilates without me?”
She’s the reason I started going. In high school, she used to drag me to class with her every Saturday I spent at her house, and with her all the way across the country… well, it was my way of staying connected to her, to our memories.
“Sometimes we do yoga instead. It just depends on what classes are offered every weekend.”
She folds her hand around her milkshake. “Who else goes with you?”
“Tucker and Mason, some of her friends, and Amir and Wes,” I list. Miles hasn’t yet joined us, but I don’t think he’s avoiding it; it’s just not something he particularly cares about.
“Not Greg?”
My stomach swoops. She’s mentioned my gregarious roommate more than once. He’s always all over her. Does she have a thing for him?
“We’re not excluding him, he just hasn’t joined us,” I explain, cautiously. “He and Miles are always invited to come with.”
“Good. I like Greg,” she says, and my heart skips a beat.
“You like him?”
She sucks noisily on her milkshake. “Yeah. He’s always gone out of his way to be nice to me. He treats me like a person, not just your friend that’s hanging around.”
I frown. “You’re not—”
“I know I’m not,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean everyone treats me like—”
“Who?” I demand. “Who is treating you like you’re less than?”
“Nobody.”
“Diana.”
“I’m talking about high school, about way back when,” she says with a frown. “Your brother is a dick.”
“Yeah, I know he is. He made you feel—?”
“It’s fine,” she says. “He can act however he wants. I know better. I know you, I know us.”
“Diana…”
“Here we are.” The waitress arrives at the worst possible time with our food. She sets the two groaning plates in front of each of us.
She grins at me, her eyes glassy. “How did you know exactly what I needed?”
“Contrary to popular belief, I have met you a time or two before,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes.
