That was Dean, and he was a vault.
I planned to take my feelings for her to the grave, especially since they were ancient history. Hell, they were ancient history well before Lulu asked me to help convince Tripp to go to rehab.
And because those feelings were no longer a fact of my daily existence, I intended to keep them locked in a safe with an unbreakable combination, even when Tripp stumbled up the steps to my apartment late one night, unshaven, reeking of tequila and beer.
“Just promise me one thing,” he said. Lulu had left him earlier that year, a few weeks after he’d earned himself a swift exodus from rehab for cheating on the program with Jose Cuervo. I suspected he and Jose had been cozying up tonight too.
“What’s that?” I brewed a pot of coffee. It would do nothing for him. I knew that. It was an old wives’ tale. Nothing makes you un-drunk but time and stopping. But I made the coffee anyway.
He slumped against the kitchen doorway. “Promise me—that when you finally go for it with her, you’ll tell me first.”
A steel rod plunged through my spine. I stood straighter, my mind clanging, blood rushing between my ears. My head felt like a gong had rung inside it. How the hell did he know? I was iron. I was inscrutable.
“With Amy?” I tossed out, since I’d just met a great gal named Amy and was thinking about asking her out. Please, God, let him be talking about Amy.
He cracked up, scrubbing a hand over his chin. “Seriously?”
“Seriously, what?” I was skilled in the practice of stoicism. I had a poker face to rival an entire Texas Hold’em tournament.
“Leo, you’re my best friend. You’re like a brother to me. You think I don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?” I poured the boiling water, and I’d never been so grateful for a distraction.
He stepped into the kitchen, grabbing at the counter to steady himself.
“How much did you drink tonight?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Hardly anything. I’m tough. I’m like that chick in Raiders of the Lost Ark. She can drink those big-ass dudes under the table. What’s her name?”
“Marion. Her name is Marion.” I thrust a steaming mug at him, the words on the cup mocking me because it was a gift from her—But first, coffee. Simple, heartfelt, and true.
“Marion! That’s it.”
It was as if I’d given him the key to a treasure chest, and I’d hoped and prayed the distraction would work. “Drink your coffee. There’s a blanket on the couch. You can crash here.”
He downed a hearty gulp then slapped the mug on the counter with a clatter. Brown liquid spilled over the side. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s just coffee.”
“It’s not. It’s your favorite thing.”
“We are not getting sentimental over coffee or counters.”
“But what about Lulu?”
“What about her?”
He sighed, staring at me. “Leo. I figured it out a year ago. Stop avoiding me. I know.”
“Know what?” My whole delicate balancing act threatened to topple.
“I know you’re in love with Lulu. I realized it in rehab.”
Slice me open with a serrated knife. “You’re ridiculous.”
“It was all crystal clear. You know what else was crystal clear?” He patted my chest, his eyes forlorn but resolute at the same time. “You’re the better man. You’re the man she should have been with.”
My gut twisted for fifty-million reasons. “Fuck off.”
“No, I mean it. You have your shit together. I’m a mess.”
“You could get your act together if you wanted.” That’s what irked me the most. Help was his alone to get.
He shrugged. “Maybe. But listen, will you? Tell me first?”
My jaw ticked angrily. I wanted to shout enough! But after all this time, after all these years, I wasn’t giving an inch, not after all he’d done, and all he’d never done. “You’re ridiculous. I’m not in love with her.”
“Just promise me.”
I wasn’t letting him win this. He was drunk. I was sober. I had the upper hand of clarity, and I would wield it. I also had the truth on my side. “There’s nothing to promise you because I’m not in love with her.”
It was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.
He was a dog with a bone. “Promise me you’ll give me a heads-up before you go for it.”
I poured some coffee and took a drink, hiding behind the mug. “This is an insane conversation, and it needs to end.”
When he crashed on the couch a few minutes later, he didn’t let go. His voice was threadbare. “Promise me.”
