I order a burger and fries, then at the last second, add two large, chocolate milkshakes.
During summer break in high school, Scarlett, Eli, and I used to get milkshakes after their shift at the cafe. Scarlett orderedchocolate so predictably that I teased her about it. “Why don’t you try something different?”
And she’d respond, “Why would I try something different, when I know what I like?”
I didn’t understand what she meant until later. There’s something valuable about knowing what you like. Whenever my mother would ask me why I wasn’t dating more, I would always think back to Scarlett’s words:Why would I try something different, when I know what I like?
And what I liked was Scarlett Rossi.
Scarlett lays her menu on the table, then picks up her water. “Two milkshakes? You must be hungry.” She takes a sip.
“They’re not both for me.”
Her brow furrows. “You got me a milkshake? How do you know I still like chocolate?”
“Why would you try something different, when you know what you like?” I turn to her with a knowing smirk. “And you like chocolate milkshakes.”
Her mouth pulls into a wild smile against her cup. “You remembered?”
I shrug like it’s not a big deal. “I remember everything about you, Scarlett.”
She sets her cup down so hard, the ice jumps. “Brendan Marco, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I murmur.
She leans into me, so close that my pulse rockets. “Thank you for remembering,” she whispers as her breath brushes my cheek.
My gaze drops to her lips. She’s so close, her mouth tipped toward me, that I can easily imagine what it would be like to kiss her again. I’d only need to lean in a few inches more and angle my mouth slightly.
Then Lauren holds up her phone and snaps a shot before we can put more space between us. When she shows us the screen, I’m struck by how I’m looking at Scarlett—not like a friend at all.
Scarlett studies the picture for a long moment without sayinganything. Which somehow makes it worse than if she’d made a joke about it.
“She was just thanking me,” I say.
Rourke barks out a laugh. “Sure.Thankingyou.” He picks up his drink and mutters, “With that look on your face.”
“What look?” I ask flatly.
That’s when I notice the same six guys—Leo, Brax, Tate, Rourke, Jaxon, and Miles—all grinning like fools. The ones who know this whole thing is fake, even if my feelings are not.
Leo catches my eye across the table and mouthsyou’re so gonewith a smirk that tells me he’s enjoying every second of my suffering.
At least Scarlett is too busy staring at Lauren’s picture to notice.
Thankfully, our food arrives, just as Scarlett’s phone buzzes on the table. As she reads her message, her brow knits with worry.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
She places her phone face-down on the table and stares at the plate of fries. “I’m sure everything will befine.”
She doesn’t look fine. I’ve always been able to read Scarlett’s eyes. I started noticing it in high school, when she’d be worried about Eli or upset with a friend. The key to Scarlett Rossi has always been her eyes.
Worry balloons in my chest. “Is everything okay with your dad?”
She stirs the ice in her cup. “Dad’s fine.” She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Mom just got some bad news, that’s all. The insurance company is denying the claims for my dad’s treatments.” She stirs her ice so hard, droplets splatter the table. “For the third time.”
I take in that news quietly.