Silently, they stood and sipped, taking in the moment. Eventually, they sat down on the boulders overlooking the view. The draining sadness he expected didn't come. No drenching tears ending in hiccups. Instead? A lightness brushed over his shoulders, a weight lifted as Jack drifted into the sky.
Jack would have preferred just hanging out, feeling normal anyway. He’d have ragged on them for not bringing snacks or more beers.
Shit, when Zane explained why, even for such a somber occasion, he wasn’t getting trashed? Jack would have kicked his ass for being such a dumbass, letting himself get tied up in knots over what to do about Freya. That he should get over himself and admit he was a sap.
Letting all the air out of his lungs, Zane stared out at nothing, then blurted out, “I love her.”
Asher’s lips tugged up. He squinted and looked out over the mountaintops beyond. “I know.”
“She doesn’t want to be married.”
“Doesn’t she? For a woman that’s been engaged three times, sounds like she’s interested in forever.”
“But not with me.”
“Why not you?”
“Fuck if I know. Something about ‘pheromones and muscles and broodiness.’”
“What does that mean?” Asher shook his head, clearly as puzzled at his cousin’s statement as Zane had been.
“Pretty sure it means she wants someone steady and cheerful, without the fricking accidental make-outs.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Is it? Who sounds like a safer happily ever after bet? Steady job, doesn’t interrupt your work, and is a halfway decent communicator? Or, how about the guy that rents the apartment over the garage because he has no place else to go, gets a panic attack every time he gets swallowed by a crowd, seems to think fooling around in someone else’s laundry room during a family party is acceptable, and has little more than his ability to brew a decent beer on his resume?”
“Don’t forget, is a total badass and can solve about any global conflict.”
“Let’s not forget that,” he scoffed. “I actually think those are pointsnotin my favor. Goes against the steady and cheerful aspects.”
Asher downed the rest of his beer and hopped off the boulder. “I know my cousin; she’s been one of my best friends since we were in diapers. She’s got a hell of a heart that she’s learned not to trust, thanks to those assholes that took more than they gave. You truly love her? Prove it to her.”
“She’ll run away scared, and she sure as hell won’t want to socialize anywhere near me and we’re back to the FreyaorZane issue again.”
“She might. Or, as I’ve been telling her all along, she’ll see that you’re not Randy or Vince or Giovanni. That you’ll always have her back. You’ve always had mine, and we’re not even lovers.”
“Dude. This is getting weird.”
“Come on, you don’t think I’m pretty enough?”
Zane rolled his eyes, chugging the last of his beer that he’d forgotten about before stuffing the empty bottles in the backpack. Heading down the slope, he tried to let it sink in. Asher was so fucking happy these days, brighter than Zane had ever seen, and not just because he was a civilian. Asher was the last guy to have talked like such a romantic sap, before meeting Sophie. He might actually know what he was talking about.
But Freya had been burned before. Zane couldn’t guarantee following through on any promises he wished he could make. The annulment hearing was in eleven days. After that, they could see where things led. Without pressure, simply two people that liked each other.
They’d made it almost two weeks. No kissing. No groping. Not even handholding.
This wasn’t so hard.
Okay, so they’d hardly even been in the same room with each other. But her imagination, conscious and not, planned the many, many activities they could try out after this stupid annulment went through.
Groaning, Freya slammed the couch pillow against her face. It was even worse for the hour or two each day she’d gone to Zane’s to work on his computer. Not that he hung around; a few polite words exchanged, awkward shifting on his feet as he came up with some excuse to avoid her.
Well, that’s what it felt like anyway. But sharing the same air, even for a few minutes, being able to catch a hint of the fresh grapefruit and sandalwood soap she’d bought him, made her want to tear his clothes off… utter torture. Worse, seeing that he was as miserable as she was? It was a crappy situation.
Sophie dropped onto the recliner opposite and shifted the lever until her feet were elevated. “Maybe Pippa’s right.”
Moving the pillow, not caring that her hair had succumb to the static electricity of dry summer air and a fuzzy pillow, she muttered, “Hey, she’s my neurotic dreamer. You’re my realist. Don’t mess with my flow.”
