When Our Worlds Stand Still (Our Worlds #3)(46)

“We?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Sexting can only go so far before it gets weird.” Mark shrugs.

“So, sweet little Bea is a sexter, huh?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him as I snatch his phone off the coffee table. I try to crack the code, and when I do, he jerks it from my grasp, and I start for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Mark yells.

“We’re going to the city, apparently. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you end up with a bad case of blue balls or something. Completely unselfish reasons, of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re on the road. I debate texting Kennedy but decide to leave the element of surprise on my side for this impromptu visit.

When we’re halfway there, Kennedy texts me.

Heading into work. I’ll call you when I’m out, but it could be late.

Leave it to Kennedy to use perfect spelling and punctuation in a text. I laugh to myself.

“It’s nice to see you two back together,” Mark mutters.

We haven’t talked much about the past the three of us share, and we’ve all agreed it’s for the best. I hate the idea that Kennedy found some sort of comfort in Mark’s arms. He hates he couldn’t resist her charm long enough to take our friendship into consideration. All around, the subject pretty much sucks, so we don’t discuss it. Ever.

I glance over at him, taking my eyes off the road for a split second. “Are we really going to do this?”

“I’m not trying to have an all-out gab fest. Just saying.”

A subject change is necessary. “So, what’s up with Bea? Is the plan to trek off to the city to sweep her off her feet?” I question. He ignores my imposition and turns up the radio. “Not so eager to have a heartfelt conversation anymore, huh?”

“I like Bea. She tests me and intrigues me, but she’s holding out.”

“You must have lost your magic touch, Marky.” I strum my fingers to the beat of the song on the radio.

“No, it’s not like that. There’s a mystery to her I can’t quite figure out.” He groans.

Mark’s insecurity makes me grin. I’ve never seen him this strung out over a girl, not even my girl, and Lord knows, Kennedy can strum up some pretty intense, deep-seated insecurity.

“She only gives so much information, small nuggets, before she closes off.”

“You have lost your Mark Whitmore charm, then,” I boast, feeling slightly vindicated for the shit storm he’s caused in the past.

“All the signs of a lasting relationship are there, but somehow, we’re missing the intimacy. The girl can make me laugh so hard I cry, and she’s beyond intelligent, but whenever I ask her anything about personal experiences and family, she freezes up.” The way Mark talks so freely about Bea doesn’t surprise me.

Much like I did with Kennedy, I think to myself. “Maybe you should just give it time. It’s only been a month.”

“You’re probably right. I’m overreacting.” He brushes off the urgency and replaces it with the ease I’m used to seeing in him.

We drive into the city, allowing GPS to guide us to a parking ramp downtown. The streets are buzzing with scantily clad girls. Boys drag behind them, staring at their barely covered asses. I can’t blame them. If Kennedy were dressed similarly, I’d be doing the same thing.

Mark elbows me and nods his head at a tall, brick building. The large sign on the front says The Knox in large red letters. When a drunk girl stumbles out, a mix of country and dance music spills from the door. She grabs me to keep from falling. Her appreciative eyes stare at me through the fog in her head.

With her hands resting on my stomach, she says, “God, you’re beautiful. Want to get out of here?”

At a certain point in my life, I might have taken her up on the proposition, but the only thing I want to do is find my girl.

“He sure is, honey. Now keep walking.” Mark helps her stand.

I laugh at his protective stance beside me as he ushers her away.

“Does it ever get old being so damn irresistible?” Mark jokes, holding the door open for me with a dramatic bow.

“You’re such an idiot.”

I’m surprised how big the place is. From outside, you can’t tell it has tall industrial ceilings with exposed piping and rafters. The atmosphere is dark, but it makes sense. The clientele is twenty-somethings, with want in their eyes and liquor on their breath.

“I can’t believe Kennedy works in a place like this,” I shout over the song instructing the dance floor to shake their ass and dip low to the floor.

“You probably can’t beat the tips.” Mark gestures at a waitress in nothing more than a sliver of denim and a plunging neckline on her white t-shirt. She grins at us, catching us inspecting what seems to be the uniform for the bar. We both groan. “I’m gonna go find Beatrice.”

The old school name sounds strange when it falls from his tongue with a mixture of adoration and lust. Beatrice is a name you reserve for the over-eighty crowd in your head, not adorable twenty-one-year-olds. Oddly enough, the name matches her old soul.

As he disappears into the thick crowd, my eyes skim over every space to find her dark hair. I come up empty. A bartender, who I assume is most girls’ type, lifts his chin at me.

“Looking for someone?” he asks.