“How do you do that?”
He blinks. “Do what?”
“How do you make your face so sincere? Your voice so full of concern?”
His brow dips. “Iamconcerned.”
“Right,” I scoff. “Tess and I are leaving, and I’m positive neither of us wants to see another man again.”
I want to clap at the hurt that flashes across his face.
The man deserves an Oscar.
CHAPTER 19
SAWYER
The next morning,I walk into work feeling like the undead, circles under my eyes and beard unruly. My mind is still on Tess and Brie, exactly where it’s been all night. Okay, if I’m honest, it’s been sixty-percent Brie.
Eighty-five, tops.
That’s not to say I don’t care about Tess—I do. But based on what Brie said about neither of them wanting to see another man again, I assume Tess just needs some time to realize she’s better off without whatever loser she was dating.
Brie, though? I can’t figure her out. One minute, we’re fine, for us at least, and the next, she’s epically pissed off. Specifically, pissed off at me.
She accused me of faking my concern, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I wish I could understand where her sudden glacial attitude came from.
For hours, I work on autopilot. I chat with children’s parents, answer emails, have a phone call with the school district. By lunchtime, gun to my head, I couldn’t tell youwhich parents I spoke to, what the emails were about, or why the district called.
Glancing at the clock for the thousandth time, I notice third grade lunch is starting. When Brie has a standing date with Tess at the teachers’ lounge.
Defiantly, I take my book out of my bag and sit at my desk with my lunch like I’ve done a hundred times. I unscrew my thermos, take a leisurely bite of my chili, lean back in my chair, and open my book to the dog-eared page.
My eyes glaze over the words as I consider storming down the hall, locking Brie in a closet with me, and having a real conversation like Ethan suggested. I’d ask hervery nicelyto explain what I did last night to make her so angry. I want to know if she can ever see who I am, instead of who I was.
And, since this is a fantasy, I’d kiss the hell out of her.
No. She’d kiss the hell out of me.
But I can’t do that, especially the last bit. Not at school, at least.Polite and professional. Those were Brie’s words, and they’re good ones.
I glance at the clock. It’s already five minutes into third grade lunch.
Five minutes I could’ve spent with her.
Scratching my jaw, I rise deliberately to my feet and pick up my thermos and water bottle, as if intentional movements will convince myself I’m being rational when I know with absolute certainty I’m behaving like a junkie. Ijustgave myself a pep talk about polite and professional, yet all I can think about is getting answers.
As I draw near the teachers’ lounge, I brace myself for whatever I’m about to walk into. More hostility from Brie? A teary-eyed Tess? The inaugural meeting of their new man-haters’ club?
I push through the door, and several teachers pass me, leaving just Tess and Brie inside.
A heavy rock lands in my gut as I take them in. Tess’s head is tipped back while she blinks up at the ceiling. Brie has her head in her hands, shoulders shaking.
I take swift strides toward them. Before I can ask what’s wrong, Tess pulls herself together enough to say, “And I haven’t had a pickle since!”
Brie cackles like a banshee.
I huff out a relieved laugh.
