The question in my voice makes him hesitate. “It’s just. Well, it’s possible we could see more of each other, and I wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
Same page? What does that mean? I stay silent and wait for him to elaborate.
“It’s just…we probably shouldn’t cross any boundaries,” he says.
Oh, hell no.
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. He shifts in his chair as the realization sets in that maybe he’s made some assumptions about our boundaries.
“I’m not saying we would. Jesus. This is coming out all wrong.”
“I think we’re on the same page, Wyatt.” I down the rest of my wine. “I should get going. I look forward to seeing you around the office.” I stand.
“Wait, you’re leaving? Why? We’ve not even finished dinner. There’s still dessert.”
There’s no way I can sit through another half-hour with him so he can tell me more about these boundaries he’s eager to keep. This was a mistake to meet him tonight. I know better. I’m furious, but only at myself. He’s actually being the only professional at this table, and apparently, I’ve gotten too comfortable with him—so comfortable he’s having a fucking boundaries conversation with me. I scream that last part in my head.
“It’s actually probably better for me to skip those calories.” I force a laugh.
“Blair, wait. At least let me pay the check and walk you out.”
I turn away from him and let out a small sigh. “I’m going to the ladies’ room, and I’ll meet you up front.”
When I walk to the lobby, I see Wyatt talking to the woman who was at his table earlier. I didn’t realize she was still here.She’s hanging on his every word as he charms her with his stupid velvet voice and stupid good looks. I wonder if she’s aware of his “professional boundaries.” Or maybe she is why he mentioned them to me.
I’ve got to get out of here. While he’s got his back to me, I sneak out the front door and leave without saying goodbye. I tell myself I’m setting my own boundaries. The less time I spend with Wyatt, the easier it will be to keep him off my mind, out of my heart, and firmly in my past.
Ten minutes later, I hear my phone ding , and my car reads the text aloud.
“Message from Wyatt. Did you leave?”
I press the speaker button on my steering wheel to reply.
“Yes. Driving. Can’t text.”
I wait a few minutes, and when he doesn’t respond, my shoulders relax, and I sigh. I tell myself I’m relieved, but I wonder if it just means that he’s the one relieved, so he could leave with his Barbie.
I finally get into my bed, cozy in my favorite offensive “what the actual fuck” T-shirt. It’s exactly the vibe I’m feeling tonight. I grab my glass of wine and stack of scripts, and just as I begin to read, I hear my phone buzz on my nightstand.
WYATT
It was nice to see you tonight. Maybe we can grab coffee once I’m working at your office?
Are you fucking kidding me?
I leave him on read.
I lie back in my bed, full of disdain, jealousy, and confusion. I need to get these emotions in check. I’m not interested. I know better. And even if I were, he’s off limits. He made that loud and clear.
fourteen
. . .
WYATT
“Don’tbachelor parties normally start much later?” I ask Jake.
We’ve just made it to a seven a.m. tee time, and while I love a good foursome, I’d like it much more if it were ten a.m. I feel sorry for Jake. Our Manmorial weekend is now doubling as his bachelor party. “Two birds, one stone,” according to his fiancé, Lauren.
