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Fuck. It’s you. Of course, it is.
Don’t be mad, kitten. These were supposed to turn you on, not make you jealous.
I wasn’t jealous. Not for real until I saw the other guy there. He has what I don’t have from Sutter. He gets to sit there and do things like eat poutine with him.
My phone rings. I toss my phone on the table as if it caught fire.
“What are you doing?” Jack says. “Answer it.”
“No. No fucking way.”
“Then I’m answering it.”
“Jack!”
It’s too late. Fucking Jack’s got the phone to his ear and it’s pretty clear the kind of thing Sutter’s saying with the way his expression’s gleaming.
“Nah, I don’t wanna sit on your cock, Top Dog, but I know who might.”
“Give me that,” I say, swiping the phone from him.
“What the fuck, Alderchuck? Answer your damn phone,” Sutter says.
“Or don’t call me. What do you want?”
“Am I in shit over poutine?”
Not exactly. Sorta. Both. It’s both. “Figure it out, Sutter. I don’t care enough to tell you.”
“I don’t do fucking guessing games, brat.” He huffs. “Hang on. I’ll call you back.”
“What the…? Sutter, don’t you dare hang up on me.” But he’s already gone.
“What’s going on?” Jack asks.
“I don’t know. Sutter’s fucked.”
“If how he talked to me on the phone is how he talks to you, I get why you’re so addicted to him.”
I might punch my best friend. No one should get that tone from Sutter, except me.
“Whoa, don’t worry. I’m completely taken. One hundred percent besotted with my own growly man.”
Whatever. I’m mad at everything. I stab my macaroni over and over, rage-eating this stupid meal. Maybe I need to lay off the ketchup? No. Yes.No.Ketchup is … delicious. I fucking love ketchup. Sutter better never make me choose between him and ketchup. He won’t like the outcome.
My phone buzzes again. Sutter. I should ignore him. Go cold turkey. But when Jack reaches for the phone, I’m faster.
“What?” I snap.
“I wish I was eating this poutine with you, kitten.”
All my anger vanishes. Something warm swells in my chest. But then I remember about Nicci. “You already have someone to eat it with you.”
“Nicci? He wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole. We’re in Montreal, and I saw the sign for nacho poutine. I knew you’d die for it.”
Did he get poutine just for me? Did he get poutine because he was thinking about me? Yeah, I think he did on both counts.
“He doesn’t sound like a friend of mine. Why did you hang up on me?”
