Page 93 of You Fall First

She stared at me for a beat, then she said, “No … I … it’s … umm ….”

And that’s when Dex and Sayla appeared at our sides and dragged us to our table.

“Talk later?” I said under my breath as we took our seats.

“Later,” she hushed. “Yes.”

Since then, though, we haven’t been alone for even a second. First, we ate dinner with her entire family for hours. Food. Toasts. Speeches. All the love. Totally cool.

What wasn’t cool?

Me and my armpits.

Afterward, the drive home wasn’t exactly a hotbed of discussion either. My main man Dutton must’ve made a pact with himself never to fall asleep again. Car rides usually make the kid tired, but “amped beyond belief” is a far better description of how he arrived.

He was running literal circles around the living room, so Jo and I spent another hour in a tag-team of bedtime routines, pulling out all our tricks. Warm bath first. Then lavender lotion. Reading four books (me) and singing off-key lullabies (Jo).

Pajamas on, lights out.

Dutton’s finally tucked in now and slowly drifting off, so I slump into the corner chair while Jo lingers at the foot of his bed. When his breathing eventually slows into sleep mode, we sit for another ten minutes in the dark. Then, at the same time, we glance at each other across the room and nod.

We did it.

Dream time, little dude.

We silently creep into the hallway, and I shut the door behind us softly. Then, before I miss my window, I snag Jo’s hand. “I think I’ll head to the porch to unwind for a bit,” I whisper. “If you wanna join me.”

Yes, I said if.

Sure, this might be my best chance for that debrief we agreed on earlier, but I refuse to push Jo to talk to me if that’s nowhere near her agenda. Maybe she’s too exhausted and doesn’t have the energy for a conversation. Maybe she’d rather pretend the whole fake boyfriend thing never happened.

Either one’s fair.

She tips her chin. “I need to change out of these clothes first, then brush my teeth, and wash my face.”

Not a no.

“That works,” I tell her. “I’ll go ahead and use the bathroom while you change, then. Take your time, and I’ll see you out there whenever you’re ready.”

Sounds like a good plan to me.

Except fifteen minutes later, my pulse is clocking a world-record pace as I wait for Jo outside. The night air is cool, and the sky’s an inky black, but I can’t enjoy the spread of stars or the moonlight above the trees.

Not until I know I didn’t blow my friendship with Jo by claiming to be more than friends.

I couldn’t help myself.

Oliver treated Jo like she was some kind of afterthought. A person you leave in the dust. I wanted him to realize what he’s missing by pretending I have her now. But that last part might’ve been for me. Just a little bit.

And that could be a big problem.

When Jo finally steps onto the porch, my heart might as well be performing a routine on the uneven bars. Her face is scrubbed clean, hair gathered into a careless bun. She’s got a blanket from the couch draped over her shoulders, and she’s wearing pajamas.

This is the first time I’ve seen her in sleepwear. Baby-blue flannel with polka dots. Full coverage for sure, but the way she curls into the chair beside me is somehow more attractive than if she’d come out wearing lingerie.

Honestly, she looks like she belongs here, calm and settled, unlike me. Or maybe I’m just delirious from playing father figure. Either way. She draws her legs in, tucking the blanket around her body. Then, at the same time, we both say, “So.”

She chuffs a laugh. “You go first.”