It's not the wanting that's in question.

"I think you already guessed that sounds fun as hell to me," you say quietly, after a moment. "I just think he deserves to know what's going on, and if I'm being honest the idea of telling him right now, when you guys are still carrying on this mysterious fucking months long beef with each other—kind of freaks me out how he might react."

"Uh, yeah. I do not recommend telling him," Scott says, and it's a bit refreshing that he's finally actually not bothering to dispute the obvious. "Think how much longer that car trip becomes if he's in an even worse mood."

"I'm being serious," you persist. "Is that why you two have been so weird to each other since then?"

"Who even knows?" Scott shrugs again, with a general air that suggests the source of their tension is shrouded in such hopelessly impenetrable mystery that it doesn't even bear discussing.

You can't help narrowing your eyes at him now. "Back the fuck up. Tell me this situation is _not _the obvious cliché it looks like it is. Did you two have some dumbfuck territory dispute over who has better claim to me, that neither of you are willing to tell me about because you know how incredibly stupid and immature that is?"

Scott gives you one of his adorable, crinkled up, now-you're-just-confusing-me faces. "Can we go back to the fun part where we were exchanging nonstop panty-dropping banter? What's with the third degree, anyway?" he wants to know.

"I sincerely hope you're referring to the level of burn injury she just administered you," Dex says loudly, finally joining you guys on the deck with a highball glass in hand.

You throw your eyes skyward, not even bothering to give him a look about his rudeness this time.

"Sorry, Bridge," he says, not sounding even slightly sorry. "So. What're you guys up to?" Dex sets his glass down on the deck table with a clink of ice cubes, then takes a seat opposite the two of you.

You shake your head, feeling flustered and caught off your guard, and hoping he didn't overhear anything else you and Scott said over the last ten-odd minutes. "Dumb shit. Truth or dare."

"Ooh! You don't say." Dex looks at you both with raised brows expression that suggests he knows you're at least partially full of shit but he's not interested in calling you on that fact. Instead, he props his chin on one fist and gives you an equally bullshit winsome look. "So can I get in on the action, Bridge, or do I have to get caught up first?" He picks up his glass and raises it to show what kind of catching up he means. You look at him, puzzled and a little unsettled, because he seems off, even compared with how not-great things have been lately.