Chapter 21
Taysom
Charlotte’smouthtwiststothe side as she regards me. “Are you ready for a commitment like that?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about her jumbo-sized voice box?” She cocks a brow.
I snort out a laugh. “Since we’d be sharing her, we wouldn’t have her enough to get sick of it.”
“Oh, I get sick of that sound five minutes in.”
I cringe. “I do, too.” I think for a beat. “Well, if we shared her, we could pool our pet parent knowledge.”
“We already do that,” she counters.
Some customers gather near the door, and I could be wrong, but they look like they want to approach us. Maybe they want to ask about Miley, or about Charlotte and me.
What would I even say? It’s easier to avoid them.
“So, no pet sharing?” I’m casual about it, but for some reason, I care a lot about what she says.
“It wouldn’t be a fair share because you’re gone all the time during football season.”
Oh yeah. Just like my dad was gone all the time.
Besides, nothing is permanent, so I’ll probably be traded soon. Why did I say that? I can’t share the cat with Charlotte.
I do like Charlotte a lot. But I can’t date her. I can’t get wrapped up in her. I meant what I said about my feeling that I’m going to get traded. It’s the last thing I want, but for some reason, that makes it feel even more inevitable.
So, I gather up all our taco papers and the “zillions” of napkins. “We’d better go make sure Miley is behaving herself.”
Walking through the double doors, a large party is laughing and talking, not paying attention to where they’re going. One guy, middle aged and bigger, runs into Charlotte, and then murmurs an apology.
“Whoa!” Charlotte says, trying to step out of the way. With the sheer mass of people, it’s hard to stay close to her, so I grab her hand, skirting away from the group as I steer her to safety.
“You okay?” I ask, assessing her for damage.
She takes in a deep breath. “Yes. I’m all good.”
“Let’s get you back to the car before we get mauled again,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze.
I should let go of it. I really should. She doesn’t need my assistance anymore, and she probably didn’t to begin with.
But I don’t let go. I keep holding onto it, her skin warm and sweet and soft to the touch as we make our way back to my car.
The following week, after my team meeting, one in which I try to pretend I’m confident and certain that I’ll be back in the fall, I’m starting to feel a little paranoid. And I obsess over every look that anyone higher than me may or may not have in their eyes. What do they know that I don’t? Are they thinking,ah man, this poor dude doesn’t know he’s outta here in a few weeks.
I might be making all of those looks up in my head.
Or maybe they’re very real and it’s only a matter of time before I’m sacked.
Either way, this whole thing sucks, and I need to remember that thoughts become reality, so I need to stop.
I punch in a call to Charlotte. “Hey, can I stop by to film another video?”
I make it sound so casual. So brief. The truth is, though, lately I’ve been sticking around after we film. Charlotte’s cooked for me twice. She says it’s the least she can do since we’ve gotten so much good attention for the Center through my account.
