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The woman doesn’t just have a broken heart, she also believes ridding herself of that cheating asshole she called a husband is her loss, not his.

The thought makes me want to either track down Austin and throttle the hell out of him, or pull Gabby into my arms and tell her how goddamn special she is, over and over again, until she finally realizes it.

Because, trust me, Gabby Lourdes is special. She’s always managed to stay under the radar, preferring to drift into the background, hide behind the scenes. But she’s beautiful, both inside and out. And she’s the only one who doesn’t seem to see it.

But if I say that, she’ll laugh or make some self-deprecating comment. She’ll never hear what I’m actually saying, what I’ve always told her: No one loves you like I do, Gab. I promise you that.

In elementary school, I said it to her the first time as a joke. I’d heard it on some movie I wasn’t supposed to be watching, and Gabby laughed in my face when I regurgitated the line to her. We’d both laughed. I mean, what did an eight-year-old know about loving someone? But it’d made her smile so brightly that the embarrassment I’d felt had been worth it.

After that, the phrase quickly became an inside joke between us. Said with just the right inflection, I could make it sound sarcastic, rolling my eyes for effect when she’d do something silly or have some lame-brain idea. Or, if Gabby was having a bad day, griping about school or work or something, I’d say it more seriously, a reminder that she wasn’t alone and had someone who cared enough to make sure she got through whatever was upsetting her.

Gabby has heard that phrase from me countless times over the years, as well as a handful of times through texts and short conversations in the last few weeks during this whole divorce debacle. She’s thanked me for it every time.

Thanked me. That’s how nonchalant she is about it, how platonic the statement is to her.

Yet, it’s anything but platonic to me.

“Here,” I say, pushing the beer cans toward her playfully. “It’s not that bitter-tasting wine stuff you drink, but it’ll take the edge off.”

She offers me a crooked grin, but takes the beer without hesitation. “Careful, I might need all six of ‘em for myself.”

I shrug. “That can be arranged, too.”

She nods toward the four remaining beers. “Hardly. I’ll get these and some plates from the cupboard. You bring the pizza, and I’ll meet you in the living room.”

This condo has always mesmerized me a little. So much openness and granite countertops and huge windows. It’s a beautiful space, but the living room isn’t the highlight by far. “Screw the living room. We’re heading to the balcony.”

She shrugs and disappears in the direction of the patio door, plates and beer cans in her hands. Gabby might be desensitized to it, but I’m not—there is no more entertaining or beautiful show to watch than the sun setting on the city below, and Gabby’s balcony has always been the perfect spot to watch every minute of it.

She’s already got the cushioned patio chair pulled up toward the small matching coffee table. I sit down next to her, taking it as a good sign she chose the couch-sized seat to situate for us instead of separate chairs—she wants the closeness right now.

I can appreciate that.

“So,” I begin, digging into the pizza box and pulling a slice out for her. “Do you want to talk about how it all went down today, or would you rather just avoid the subject of divorce completely for now? It’s your call, Gab.”

She sighs. I think she purposely takes a bite of the pizza so she doesn’t have to answer right away. “If I talk about it, I’ll end up swearing and angry.”

“And we know how cute you are when you’re angry,” I quip.

Gabby shoves her shoulder against mine. “Very funny. Seriously though, all I want to do is forget that any of it even happened. Just for a little bit. I need some distraction.” She gives me a suggestive grin. “And you seem like a pretty good one to me.”

The sexy, crooked grin on her face halts me from taking a bite of the pizza slice between my fingers. I know she doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but damn, I want her to mean it exactly the way I’m hearing it. “Easy, tiger. I’ll distract you any way you want me to. All you have to do is ask, pretty lady.”

She shoves me playfully again and goes back to focusing on her beer and pizza.

Just as I knew she would.

That doesn’t make the ache deep within me any easier to handle, and I shift slightly in the chair in attempt to make myself a bit more comfortable. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help me much, either.

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