“Because Bailey Bennett is a stubborn woman, and she won’t let anyone change her mind,” I snapped. “I hurt her, and she won’t forgive me for that. Trust me, I knew this when I made my choice.”
“It’s been six weeks. You’ve been moping around here, working yourself to the bone just so you can forget about her. Enough is enough. You’ve given her space. Now remind her what it’s like when you’re around.”
“Yeah, I’ll just start stalking her,” I laughed.
“If you have to,” he said with all seriousness. “Trust me when I tell you that when you step into her life again, she won’t be able to shut you out. She’ll fight you every step of the way, but there is only one way this ends, and that’s with you putting a ring on her finger.”
He shoved to his feet and walked away, but before he stomped off into the yard, he turned back to me. “If you don’t fuck it up.”
40
BAILEY
“Come on!”Cheyenne pleaded. “I can’t sit around this apartment for another night. I need to get out and be around the people!”
“You’re around the people every day when you’re at the bank.”
“You know what I’m saying.” Cheyenne flopped dramatically on the couch beside me, groaning as if she were dying. “Please, please, please, don’t make me beg.”
“You already are.”
“I know, and I’ll beg all night until you relent. This is important, Bailey. I’m withering away into an old woman. Last night, Krista asked if I wanted to go to the bar with her, and I told her no because I was already in my pajamas!”
“That’s a valid reason,” I pointed out, then motioned to my own pajamas, which had been my solace over the past few weeks.
“It was five o’clock!” she shouted, making me wince.
Okay, maybe I was turning her into an old lady, but it couldn’t be helped. I was in no mood to go out.
“Why don’t you call Archer and see if he’ll meet you at the bar?”
“Because he doesn’t like me. Not like that, and I need someone to have fun with. If I call him, I’ll just try to get in his pants all night.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Yes, because he’ll turn me down, and then I’ll get depressed and drunk, and it’ll all be your fault.”
“Well, that’s really a shame, but I can’t. I have things to do.”
“Like what?”
“Laundry,” I answered immediately.
“You did your laundry every night this week. I’m surprised we have any detergent left.”
“And I have to clean my bathroom. It’s absolutely disgusting.”
“That was your excuse last weekend. It couldn’t have gotten that dirty in a week.”
Huffing in irritation, I quickly ran through the rolodex of excuses in my head. “I have my period.”
“And?”
“And I’m crabby!”
“Good, then you’ll make all the hot men gravitate toward me.”
“Cheyenne—”
