On His Face - Tabatha Kiss Page 0,96

nods with a hidden smirk. “You’re welcome, little sister.”

His little sister. An enemy, sometimes. But always his little sister.

“This battery die on you a lot?” he asks.

“Once or twice.”

“Seems like you’ve really got this down,” he says, admiring my cable work.

“Yeah, well...” I hesitate to say his name. “Drew taught me how to do it, so...”

Seth pauses. “He did, huh?” he asks after a moment.

I nod.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other with his head down. Then he finally looks at me and sighs. “Did you love him?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer, without thinking “I do.”

Seth leans forward and places his hands on my car. His head bows beneath the hood, but I can see the sharp furrow of his brow as his face screws up and he grits his teeth.

“Seth?” I ask. “You okay?”

He shakes his head. He taps his fingers. He makes a quiet, pained sound as I inch a little closer. Was that a growl?

With a grunt, he pushes off. I startle backward as he spins toward his truck and hops up into the driver’s seat. The engine turns off and he bounds back over, yanking the cables off our cars as he passes them.

I glower. “Seth, what the hell?”

He slams my hood. “Get in the truck,” he says.

“What?”

“Just get in the truck before I change my mind!”

I move, not in the mood to argue with him, but also a little curious. I lock my hunk of junk before hoisting myself into the passenger’s side of his truck and buckling up.

Seth drives us out of the parking garage. I don’t dare peek at the speedometer as we fly through Sunday afternoon traffic, nor do I make the mistake of asking him where we’re going while he plows through the city with tunnel vision.

After a few minutes, I’ve already figured that out, anyway.

The marina.

My head spins with questions. My memories overwhelm my senses, forcing me to relive some of the most tender moments of my young adult life. Dancing with Drew in the moonlight. Laughing with him between sweet kisses. Making love among the waves.

But Seth doesn’t know about that, right?

Panic brews in my chest.

Seth doesn’t know about that, right?

He parks in a random spot near the back of the lot, one that I’m pretty sure is reserved parking, but he clearly doesn’t care about that right now.

“Come on,” he says as he shoves his door open and steps out.

I follow him, clinging to my jacket as we weave through the cars toward the dock. “Seth, what are we doing here?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer. He marches down the dock, passing this boat and that boat all the way toward The Golden Rose.

“Hey, Drew!” Seth says. “Get out here!”

Drew?

Movement catches my eye behind the helm’s tinted windows. The door slides open and Drew sticks his head out, his expression laced with surprise and suspicion.

My breath catches at the sight of him. It hasn’t even been two days, but my heart bleeds as if we’ve been separated for weeks. White t-shirt. Blue jeans. The same easy-going look he always has, but it never fails to drive me simply crazy. He looks at me with wide eyes, his face sporting some two-day stubble. Is this where he’s been staying?

He looks away from me, targeting Seth instead. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Seth pivots to the side. He makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, pointing me in Drew’s direction. “Go on,” he says to me.

I don’t move. “What?”

“Go on,” he repeats, waving me forward again.

I look at Drew as he looks at me. “I... don’t know what’s happening,” I say.

“You. Him.” Seth twitches, uncomfortable. “Go.”

“Go?” I repeat.

“You can be together,” he spits. “Date. Court. Hook-up. Whatever the hell. I don’t care.”

My pulse spikes. “What?” I ask.

Seth takes a breath. “You were right,” he says to Drew. “Nobody wins here. You’re miserable. She’s miserable. And I’m fucking miserable just watching the two of you be miserable, so...” He taps his foot against the dock. “Go ahead and do what you want. You have my blessing.”

Drew looks at me with mild excitement, but he holds back. “Are you sure?” he asks Seth.

“No,” Seth answers as he exhales. “But I’ll get over it.”

“You will?” I ask, unconvinced.

“Yeah.” He stands up taller, puffing his chest out. “As long as I don’t have to see it, or hear it, or think too much about it... yeah. I’ll get over it. Eventually. Maybe. What I want doesn’t matter. What makes you happy