“So things are getting serious, then.” Grant was the vision of a runner, with his cushioned running shoes, running shorts, ball cap, Apple Watch, and special gel socks. All he needed to complete his look was a goddamn number plastered onto his back, à la Usain Bolt. I was more understated, with—you fucking guessed it, ding ding ding—black running shorts, a black tee, and black sneakers Katie gifted me every three months to ensure the soles of my feet weren’t made exclusively out of blisters. I wasn’t into half marathons like Katie and Ethan, though. I worked out because I didn’t want to die young or sport a midthirties gut.
“Au contraire, Gerwig. We have a tight deadline, so I’m making the most of it. I have it all worked out.”
Once Dad died, so would the relationship with Madison.
“I would love to hear this,” Grant said, pretending to prop his chin over his fist, not breaking his pace. “Tell me how you worked this out.”
“I’m going to spend the days with Dad. Go back to his place every day after work, play chess, have dinner, watch TV, talk, then go to Mad’s in the evening and spend the night with her. That way I enjoy both worlds without getting played again.”
“Getting played,” Grant repeated, waiting for further explanation.
“Last time, I got sucked into a black hole of dirty fucks and clean conversation. Never again.”
“It’s called falling in love, you idiot. You fell in love and got butt hurt nobody sent you the memo. So you proceeded to do something mind-blowingly stupid, regretted it, got a second chance, and now, from what I’m gathering here, you are about to screw it up again.”
Fell in love. Those were the words he’d used. Grant was certifiable. Of that, I was certain. The fact I trusted him with my father’s health concerned me.
“I don’t want a relationship,” I clipped out.
“Well, you are in one.”
“She knows it’s not real,” I said, even though it wasn’t lost on me that we were about to shit all over the three-nights-a-week rule.
“It’s not her I’m worried about, Chase.”
We were rounding the curve, going uphill. I remembered my dad had told me the roads in Central Park were curved to prevent horse-and-carriage racing. I wondered how many other fact nuggets he hadn’t had the chance to tell me yet. Grant fell behind, and I took the opportunity to flip the conversation on him.
“What about you and Layla?” I asked.
“It’s over.”
“Interesting,” I said. It wasn’t interesting, though. Grant and Layla were about as compatible as Daisy and Frank. Grant wanted a serious relationship, and Layla wanted to fuck as many people as she physically could before meeting her maker.
“Yeah.” Grant sighed. “I found out she doesn’t want children.”
“You knew she didn’t want children,” I countered. It had literally been her first line of conversation when he’d met her. Hi, I’m Layla. I don’t want children, but I’m a preschool teacher. Please save me your opinion about that. Oh, hey, nice shirt.
“Well, I thought it was flexible. You know, like people who say they won’t overeat during Thanksgiving dinner because they’re watching their weight but still pig out when push comes to shove.”
“Children and pumpkin pies do have a lot in common,” I drawled sarcastically, quickening my pace. Grant caught up to me. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t let the relationship run its course while having a steady lay.”
“Because I’m not a complete idiot,” he explained through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to wake up two years from now with a woman who wants the exact opposite of what I do.”
“How did she take it?” I asked, because it seemed like something I should do.
“Quite well, seeing as she did the dumping.”
“Crap,” I offered. “Sorry.”
Obviously, I was an excellent friend, with great, valuable input.
“Don’t you think it’s ironic? Layla dumped me because I wanted to get serious. You tried to scare Maddie away because she was serious. Things would have worked perfectly if only Madison and I had met before you and she did. Then she could have set you up with Layla.”
“You and Mad?” I bit out. “No chance. She’s too weird, and you’re too . . . you.”
“Is that so?” Grant asked in amusement. He was goading me.
“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you could make a good couple. Doesn’t matter. Bro code determines you can’t touch her with a ten-foot pole because I touched her first.” I paused. “And I touched her everywhere.”
“I don’t think it works like that.” Grant laughed, and I felt my body stiffening. I wanted to race him up the hill just so I could roll him down it, hoping he’d break a goddamn hip. “We’re not in high school anymore. You don’t even like her very much. According to you, anyway.”
“What the fuck are you insinuating, Grant?” I stopped running, scowling at my friend. Grant kept running in place. I’d always thought running in place was the international sign of being a pretentious dick. Hadn’t Ethan done it just the other day? Suddenly, I couldn’t stand the sight of my best friend.
“Don’t be so upset. Even if I ever decided to make a move on Maddie, she will never date me. Bro code may not be a thing, but sister code is real, and Maddie is a good apple. She’d never do it to Layla.”
I knew he was right. I continued jogging, ignoring him chuckling beside me. It wasn’t that funny. So what if I didn’t want my best friend to sleep with my ex? That didn’t mean I was in love with her.
“As for what I was insinuating,” he said through a wide smile, “I believe the term I was looking for is you, my friend, are royally, crucially, and officially fucked.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
MADDIE
Almost a whole Ethan-free week had passed since our amicable, grown-up breakup.
It rolled like a holiday collage. Photoshopped family dinners at the Blacks’, exchanging acute opinions about the royal family’s best fashionistas with Lori, whispering like a schoolgirl with Katie, and braiding Clemmy’s hair as I taught her how to make ready-made cupcakes. I talked to Ronan as much as I could without monopolizing his time. I had firsthand experience when it came to dealing with a sick relative. People often preferred to avoid the sick. To converse with other family members. Those who were easier to look at, I guessed.
I learned how to ignore Amber and Julian without popping blood vessels whenever they addressed me like I was a servant. It wasn’t that difficult, actually. Amber was usually drinking herself to oblivion for social-lubrication purposes and was easy to outwit. Julian was still a snake but spent much of his time either trying to sneak meetings with Ronan or locking himself with Chase in the library, where the octaves reached a few Broadway-worthy highs, even with the doors closed.
I didn’t ask Chase about his meetings with Julian. It wasn’t my business. I knew Julian was privy to my kiss with Ethan but guessed Chase had taken care of that. I didn’t want to get involved. The more I knew, the more I got attached, and I was desperately trying to cling onto the remainder of my senses and keep my heart out of this arrangement.