Uncertainty passes through his dark eyes. “No problem. It’s been... fun.”
My nervous giggle echoes loudly in the bathroom. “Is that what it’s been?”
“It’s been?—”
An annoying chime starts in the bedroom, and I groan. “That’s alarm two. I think I missed the first one.”
I peel myself away from him and rush to grab my phone off the nightstand on the far side of the bed and silence the alarm.
He steps out of the bathroom, the towel still around his shoulders. His hair’s not combed neatly to the side yet. “Do you think after the reception we can talk?”
My heart creeps into my throat. I really do need to get going, but I can’t leave this hanging. Does he sound hopeful, or is that my wishful thinking? “About what?”
He’s hesitant, his jaw working. “Our arrangement.”
I rise on my tiptoes like anticipation is lifting me on a butterfly’s wings. “Yes?”
His brows are drawn together, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets. That’s not the stance of a guy ready to confess his love. Another buzzing fills the room.
“It’s mine.” He picks it up and does a double take at whatever’s on the screen. His expression goes blank, and he clicks the button on the side to silence it.
My third alarm goes off, and another awkward chuckle leaves me. I’m entering mindfuck territory, and I have a job to do today. My personal life needs to take a back burner. Today, I’m going to be there for my family in a way I never have been before, and I can’t do that if I’m late yet again. Besides, a ping comes from his phone. Whoever is trying to reach him is tenacious.
“You can take that. I really have to get going.”
“It can wait. I’ll walk you out.”
And confuse me some more? Turn my hope all topsy-turvy? I can’t handle that before walking into January’s wedding takeover. “It’s fine. I can pick up my stuff before I go.” I left a mild whirlwind of towels in the bathroom.
“Leave it. You don’t have time.” Another ping and his cheek twitches.
I hope everything’s okay. Perhaps it’s Iverson, and he’s too uncomfortable to answer while I’m here? I take him up on the tidying offer and scurry toward the door. Wedding first. Talk later. It’s been my mantra for enough days. I don’t have much longer to wait.
I almost blow him a kiss but that seems like something lovers do.Officiallovers. I throw him a finger wave and rush out.
I push my damp hair back and duck into the mudroom. Where are my boots?
Right. They’re still in the garage. My cheeks flush at the memory, and I bite my lower lip when I smile. I nailed my head and we both laughed. It was silliness Ihaven’t experienced with a guy, and it was with Durban, of all people.
I carry my boots in so I can go out the front door. When I have one almost on, I huff out a breath. My phone. I left it in the bedroom. Ditching the boot, I rush through the house. The bathroom door is closed and his scruff trimmer is running.
Just as I grab my phone and turn, his phone screen lights up from where he must’ve tossed it on the bed. My horseshoe necklace is lying next to it. Crap. Did I really forget that too? Regardless, Durban’s got my back. Smiling, I lift it, trying and failing not to look at the screen. The chain stays dangling between my fingers. Two missed calls from Natalie and two texts.
Natalie: Can we talk?
Natalie: I got offered that job in Bozeman.
Horror flushes through my body like a frigid autumn drizzle, and I curl my hands around my necklace. He’s been talking to Natalie?
She’s moving to Montana?
Are they even broken up?
My gut says yes, he wasn’t lying about that, but embarrassment nearly chokes me. I’m so foolish. I got my hopes up, and he was just biding his time until Natalie graduated. And of course, she realized she fucked up because he’s an amazing guy. Here I am, a hopeless romantic. Who else would take an agreed-upon fling and make it into a fairy tale without the guy ever knowing?
His trimmer clicks off, and I jolt. I spin and sprint to the door on the balls of my feet, trying to be as quiet as possible. I was made a fool of once, and I won’t let ithappen again. I can leave this arrangement with my head held high.
He told me once that I shouldn’t be blamed for taking a man at his word, so I won’t. The tears gathering in my eyes say otherwise, but I blink them back as I slip out the door and run to my car, boots in my hands. I’ve got a shit show I’m in charge of, and I’m going to do a damn good job of running it.
