“She’s not even going to fucking stick around,” Lucas grumbled. “You’re acting like this chick is our girlfriend. She’s not. She’s not dating us. I wouldn’t call her a paramour. We have a mutually beneficial agreement and that’s it. As soon as she gets that job offer she’s waiting on, she’s going to be gone.”

“Then we’ll protect her until she’s gone,” Manson said fiercely. He got up from the couch, abruptly rousing Jojo from her sleep. “It’s not an argument; it’s what we’re doing. Is everyone clear on that?”

Jason and I both nodded, but Lucas stayed where he was, glaring at Manson. Finally, without a word, he lowered his eyes and got up, stalking out of the living room. The front door slammed a moment later.

Manson sighed, his shoulders deflating as he sat back down. It wasn’t often the two of them argued, but I hated to see it when they did. Tapping out my joint in the ashtray, I left him and Jason in the living room and went out to the front porch.

Lucas was pacing in the yard, obviously too pissed to have a normal conversation quite yet.

“Hey, so —”

“Don’t start that shit.” He cut me off, pausing to take a long drag on the joint. “You already know I’m going to hear it from Manson later. How I need to let my guard down and work through my issues.” He snorted. “Fucking therapist bullshit.”

I let him pace for a bit, working out a little more of that nervous energy before I said, “I was going to suggest that you smoke more weed, but uh, yeah, those other things would be a good idea too.”

He growled in frustration, sitting down heavily on the front porch and rubbing his hand over his head. “I don’t get it, man. I don’t trust her. Why should I? After all this time, suddenly she’s feeling so friendly? Going out in public with us? Celebrating with us? Acting like a little flirt? I don’t buy it. Jess is just getting what she wants, so why the hell should I get attached?”

Ah, so there it was. That was why he was so damn moody this week.

After taking a seat beside him, I pulled out another joint from my pocket once he’d smoked his down to the filter. I had it ready and waiting for him by the time he’d flicked the old one away.

“Damn, you’re on it,” he said, taking the lighter when I offered it. He passed the joint to me after he’d taken a hit, and we sat like that for a while in silence.

“You’re attached to her,” I said finally, when I felt he’d smoked a sufficient amount to hear it. “You’re falling for her.”

He scoffed, grumbling something under his breath.