“And then what?” Deacon asks.
“I meant it when I said I don’t think anything’s going to come of it.”
He shifts in his seat, settling his hands on his thighs and tapping his fingers. “But if something does?”
I stare at him for a long moment. “Can I ask you to be patient with me?”
His brows draw together. “Of course. I do want to keep seeing you, but if you need to take a break to figure things out?—”
“No,” I say quickly. “I don’t want a break. I mean—I know I need to figure it out and get clear on where I stand with Evan, but I really want to give this a chance.”
“So, if that means dating us both…?”
I don’t see that happening. It’s much more likely Evan will want nothing to do with me anymore, and I’ll drown all those sorrows in bed with Deacon. However—I also have no issues seeing two men at once, as long as everyone’s on the same page. I’m not sure how to say that, though. “Would you be okay with that?”
“Look…I just want to date you. The logistics don’t really matter to me.”
Is he serious? Did I win the boyfriend lottery, and no one told me?
“But let me know how you’re feeling after you two talk,” he adds.
“I can do that.”
“I’m gonna head home soon. If you’re gonna call him, now would be a good time.”
“Can I see you later?” I ask.
He stands. “Call me. I’m planning to stick close to the house tonight. Like I said, and I’m not sure you caught this, he seems like he’s more upset with me than with you.”
“Why is that?” I sort of caught it, but it made very little sense the first time and even less now.
“If you don’t mind, I’m gonna stay out of it for now. I want you two to figure out your end, then I’ll try to decide where I fit in.”
With me, I want to tell him. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. He belongs with me. This is too good. Too mutual. And it’s way too soon to give up. But he’s right. I have a lotof cleaning up to do on my side of the street before I have any business making promises. “Thanks for the heads up.”
He nods. “Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.”
“You will,” I tell him.
He gives me what I would call an attempt at a smile, and leaves the office.
Picking up my phone, I scroll to Evan’s number in my contact list. We text often throughout the workday, and I’m tempted to start there. With a quick “Can I call you” text. That would be easy to ignore, though, and a phone call is—however awful—more personal.
I put the call through. He answers on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Evan.”
“Oh. Hi.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Um…okay, I guess. Did you need something?”
I suck in a deep breath. We’re off to a great start. I recognize his tone. Evan and I get along well, in general, but there are times where we fall into a pattern of communication that sounds a lot like an old, annoyed married couple. Hazards of proximity, I guess. “I talked to Deacon.”
He sighs heavily. “I heard you do a lot more than talk with Deacon these days.”
