In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(77)

He gets out butter, brown sugar, and some other stuff that he puts in a mixer.

“So, I thought maybe we could all have a drink. You, me, and Will.”

I cut the lemon in half and squeeze it on top of the apples. Rex reaches in and pulls out a bunch of seeds.

“Sorry,” I say.

“No problem. I forgot to tell you about the seeds. So, what do you say?”

Do I want to meet Rex’s ex-boyfriend slash sex partner? No. Because he seemed like a dick and I can’t stand the idea of watching him touch Rex.

“When was the last time you slept with him?” I ask. “Am I allowed to ask that?”

“Of course, Daniel. The last time was, I guess, in the spring. April.”

That’s when he met Marilyn, I guess.

“Listen, if you don’t want to, I understand. But he’s my friend and I’d really like you not to hate each other.”

“He hates me?” God knows what that * said after I left last night.

“No, of course not,” Rex says. “It would just be nice if you got along. That’s all I meant.”

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, but Rex just opens his arms. “I kicked him out right after you left. He’s staying with his sister.”

“But he usually stays with you?”

“Sometimes.”

I sigh. I know that my answer here is important. The question isn’t actually do I want to have drinks with this douchebag, right? God, I need to go to dating elementary school. So, what’s the question? Ginger, what’s the question? The question, the Ginger in my head supplies, is do you trust Rex? He’s asking you to make his life easier and if you trust him, then you should do it. Right.

“Okay, drinks,” I say. “I trust you.”

I get another of those warm smiles.

“Great,” he says. “Should I call him and tell him to come over tonight, or is later in the week better?”

“No, he can’t come over tonight,” I say, swatting him in the stomach. “My clothes are wet and I look like a rag doll in yours.”

“Mmm, I love the way you look in my clothes,” he growls, leaning down to kiss my neck and collarbone where his shirt droops.

“Well, I feel ridiculous,” I say, but I lean into his warm lips.

“Hmm, vanity,” he teases. “A whole new side of Daniel.”

“I’m not—mmhmm.” He kisses me before I can protest.

“I know, baby. You just want an even playing field.”

“Well, he looks like a f*cking model, so I’d at least like to be wearing pants,” I snap, irritated just thinking about Will’s stupid face.

“He’s got nothing on you,” Rex says. Note to self: Rex is either a liar or blind. But very sweet. I kiss him again.

“Okay, how about tomorrow night?” Rex asks between kisses. “We could meet somewhere near campus and you could just walk over right after class.”

“Fine,” I say, distracted by his warm mouth.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and he pushes me against the counter and attacks my mouth.




I’M DISGUSTED with myself. I’ve been nervous about having drinks with Rex and Will all day. I mean, hell, I’ve poured drinks for major musical celebrities and attended lunches with academic ones, and I’m nervous to meet the guy Rex used to date? What the hell?

My stomach is tight with anxiety. I stayed at Rex’s last night and made some toast—okay, burned some toast—there this morning, but aside from that, I haven’t been able to eat all day. Even if I could’ve, I haven’t had time. A journal article I submitted around the time I had my interview here got rejected this morning and I had to spend a whole chunk of unexpected time reformatting it so I can send it out again to another journal, which is depressing, but not unexpected. Between that and Will showing up, I really need that drink.

I’m a couple of minutes early when I get to the pub a few blocks from campus, so I grab us a table, praying that I don’t run into any students, and pull out the readers’ reports that the journal sent with my rejection letter. I’m having a furious internal dialogue with one of the idiot’s comments when a hand falls on my shoulder and I jerk around to grab it.

“Oh, hey,” I say to Rex. “Sorry.” He puts his other hand on my shoulder and gives them a squeeze.

“No problem. Hi.” He leans closer, but hesitates, and I can tell he’s not sure if he can kiss me in public. Ordinarily, I’m fairly disgusted by couples who are all touchy-feely in public, and I’ve certainly never been one of them, but some equally disgusting primal neurotransmitter is screaming at me to lay claim to him in front of Will, so I tip my head back, inviting his kiss. His mouth is warm and he smells like Rex, which makes the tightness in my stomach unclench a little.

“What are you doing?” Will asks as they sit down, gesturing to the readers’ reports, which, for some arcane reason, are printed on legal-size paper.

“An article I submitted for publication just got rejected and these are the notes from people telling me why,” I say, when what I meant to say was, “None of your business.” Oops.

“The strengths of this essay are that it is clearly written and that its author takes an imaginative approach to the—” Will reads from the top of the page before I notice what he’s saying.