Maybe subconsciously, I remembered what I texted him.
Butdammit, I miss him.
The him I believed in before he got butthurt about me being independent.
I can understand being butthurt about me insisting on keeping our short-term fling turned longer-term-quasi-friends-with-benefits thing a secret. About me not wanting to get serious.
But half of it was my independence, and I need that almost as much as I need oxygen.
“Oh my god,” Francie yelps. “There’s a boy, and you like him.”
“I am completely uninterested in boys.”
“Aman. There’s aman.”
The light turns green.
No one moves.
“C’mon, people,” I mutter. “I told my boss I’d be there in three minutes, and I cannot be late. Again.”
“Who is he?” Francie asks.
“My boss? The big boss. Tripp Wilson wants to talk.”
“Tell me you’re not crushing on your married boss.”
“Ew. No. He’s old.”
He’s about the same age as Sam. The oldest of my four brothers. Francie’s husband.
Same number of kids at roughly the same ages too.
“Okay, good,” Francie says. “Although, I thought his wife was the big boss and he was the next-big boss.”
“Also true, but she was scheduled to leave this morning for the All-Star festivities. So I have to talk to him.”
“About?”
“I don’t know. Some community outreach thing.”
“Ah. I see. So who’s your crush?”
I should’ve known she couldn’t be distracted.
The cars in front of me finally move, so I press on the gas too. “No one.”
“Addie.”
What thefuck?
The damn light’s turning yellow again.
Already.
I brake with a groan as the car in front of me hits the brakes too.
I’m late. I’m freaking late after getting trashed at a work function and missing three calls and four texts from my boss.
