A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(72)

Weston plasters a fake smile on his face and elbows me in the ribcage cheerfully while I shoot him a glower, no longer in the mood for their company. Not that I was to begin with.

Weston shrugs my insolence off in the jovial manner I’ve grown accustomed to since he joined the hockey team as a frosh, and I watch as he takes a drag from his beer, smacking his lips after swallowing with a loud Ahhhhhhh!

Cubby swivels on his bar stool, thinking. “You know,” he starts wisely. “You probably should have chased after her. Her oxytocin levels would have still been elevated and bonded so her attraction level after sex with you would have been through the roof.” He glances skyward, as if the universe above our heads holds all the answers, curtly nods, and continues, speaking to the ceiling. “Yeah. That would have been smart. You would have had a better chance getting through to her while she was still riding high on the oxytocin and dopamine from her orgasm.”

Weston and I both stare at him with open-mouthed astonishment.

“Where the f*ck did that come from?” Weston laughs.

“What? That’s pretty common knowledge,” Cubby says, looking affronted by our incredulity before cramming a handful of cashews into his mouth from the bowl on the bar top. “Christ, I know some shit. I’m a bio major. Climb down off my nut sack.”

“Do you want some advice?” Weston finally asks.

Cubby palms my head like a basketball and pushes it up and down so it looks like I’m nodding. “Say yes, bro. Your brand of relationship suckf*ckery is at a climactic high.”

I shrug when he releases my head, not sure that I do want their advice. I’d rather stumble awkwardly through self-loathing and pity. “I don’t know, guys, maybe I should just call my mom.”

“Did you seriously just say that?” Cubby slaps me upside the head and my hat flips off, landing on the bar top. “Are you turning into a *? I mean, Jesus, are you even listening to yourself? You do not call your mom.”

Weston agrees. “Yeah, that’s pretty messed up.”

I look back and forth between them. “Well. what do you expect me to do? Abby thinks I lied to get in her pants.” I glance over at Weston before resting my chin in my hands, dejected. “I’m never going to get her to come back to the house after Cubby and Miles busted in on us. She’s… really upset.”

Weston frowns, leaning forward to glance at Cubby, who is stealing and eating olives from behind the bar. He holds one up, rips it in half, and licks out the pimento before he notices we’re watching him. “What?”

“Did you hear what he just said?” Weston asks him, now taking on the role of mediator. “You embarrassed the shit out of Abby when you busted in. Why didn’t you knock, you shit bag.”

Cubby’s furrows his brow, confused. “Because? Oh, come on, don’t give me that look. He never has people over!”

“So? I would beat the crap out of you if you walked in on Molly and me having sex. And that’s only after she beat the crap out of me for letting you.”

“Alright, fine. I should have knocked. Jeez.” He doesn’t look sorry, but this is probably the first and last time the words have ever cross his lips.

“Know what?” I start, then hesitate, clearing my throat before starting again slowly. “It’s not f*cking okay. You guys are always doing this shit to me. I don’t say anything, because why would I? You *s never listen. But this time… Jesus.”

I rake my hands through my hair, frustrated and about to lose my shit. Now that the words are spewing out of me I can’t stop the floodgate. “She literally falls into my life, and now I can’t get her out of my head. She makes me—Christ, I don’t know. Happy. She’s all I can think about and now she’s f*cking pissed, and you jackasses made it ten f*cking times worse. I don’t know how to fix it. Now you’re giving me a piss-poor apology that’s supposed to make me feel better? Well, it f*cking doesn’t.”

I’m breathing hard, head bent, crestfallen.

Weston’s solid arm finds its way across my back, and he drapes it over my shoulders. “Caleb…” From the corner of my eye, I can see him shooting dirty looks at Cubby. “I get it. We get it.”

“Do you? Abby deserves respect. She’s not some…” My voice trails off. “She’s not a goddamn puck bunny or a party girl just in it for a good time or a quick f*ck. She’s shy and quiet and didn’t ask to be humiliated.”

“Humiliated?” Cubby rolls his eyes. “Dude, get real. Chicks are so dramatic.” He pops another olive into his mouth and chews.

Heat rises in my face, and I push back on the barstool, rising to my full height. “Fine. If that’s how you feel then pack your shit and get the f*ck out of my house.”

They both stare at me, slack-jawed. But I’m not done yet.

“Know what else? All you jerk-offs better start pitching in around the house. Can either of you blowhards tell me why the hell I’m the one patching up holes you put in the walls? Start pulling your weight or I’m going to add a dickhead fee to your rent.”

Weston speaks first, but not in a full sentence. “Whoa…” His eyes are bugging out.

Cubby sputters, the intensity of my glower causing a blush to creep up his neck and color his high cheekbones. “Seriously? Shit. You are serious.” He scratches the five o’clock scruff along his jaw. “Showtime, dude, I honestly didn’t realize you gave a shit about the kid.”