Velma toyed with the stem of her wineglass. Her phone buzzed in her purse. Her fingers itched to check and see if Brek was calling again. She already had several voice mails from him. She couldn’t bring herself to answer the phone or listen to his messages. That would make it real. Every time she picked up her phone, she got all dizzy and out of breath.
Wayne leaned forward, concern evident in his expression. The low hum of the restaurant cocooned them in time and space. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She smiled her best smile and glugged a drink of fortified grape juice. “How’s work?”
“Busy day.” He relaxed against the bench once more, but the concern in his eyes remained.
“Caught some bad guys?” she asked over the throaty laughter from the woman in the booth behind her.
“Yeah. You could say that.” His elbows rested on the table.
She should make a column for that on her spreadsheet. Elbows on the table meant an automatic three-point deduction. As would ordering Coors in a bottle like Brek. Right now, Wayne was at a negative six. But he caught bad guys, so that added some points. She should add a column for that, too. “Did you get to put them in handcuffs?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” He scanned his menu.
A deep breath didn’t help the discomfort of the moment. She and Wayne had always had an easy air between them. He was an amazing guy. Kind. Steady job. Polite. Her parents adored him.
But he wasn’t Brek. And that was the crux of it. If she married a guy like Wayne, she would be miserably comfortable for the rest of her life. A guy like Brek would never get married. Yet, he had managed to weasel his way into her life in the most comfortably obnoxious way.
But he didn’t want her. And Wayne was safety. Stability. Kindness. Boredom. They had that in common.
“I have tickets to seeThe King and Iat the Buell next weekend,” Wayne said.
Oh. He definitely got extra bonus points forThe King and Itickets. The Buell was hands down the best place to see Rodgers and Hammerstein.
“Interested?” Wayne asked before taking another drink of his beer and setting it carefully on the cardboard coaster with the logo of a craft beer company.
“Sure. No. Actually, could you give me a second?” Velma forced her hands to stop shaking. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
“Something’s wrong.” Wayne’s forehead scrunched.
“Yep.” Velma slid out of the booth, snatched her purse, and hustled to the restroom before he could say anything more. She stood over the white porcelain sink and splashed cold water against the red splotches forming on her cheeks and neck. She needed a plan—a strategy to get out of the next twenty-five minutes with Wayne.
She stared at her reflection, waiting for inspiration to strike.
Nothing. Darn. Firming her resolve, she pushed her shoulders back, tucked her black clutch under her arm, and headed back into the lion’s den. With barely one foot around the corner to the main restaurant area, she walked smack into Brek.
An extremely unattractive “oomph” escaped her lips. Brek’s hands steadied her. She shoved them away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She gritted her teeth so she didn’t say more.
“Finding you.” His intense gaze lanced her to her core.
That, right there, was why she’d chosen to avoid him. Even looking at him hurt.
He stepped to the side to let a couple of women move past. “What’reyoudoing?”
“Finding someone else, since you decided you’re not interested.” She huffed out a breath. “See that guy over there?” She pointed to Wayne. “His name is Wayne and he’s very interested in me.”
“Wayne?” His expression went tense.
“You’re off the hook.” Darn it, her voice trembled. Heat rose in her chest. Absolutely unacceptable. She would not fall apart. Not here, not now. Not in a hallway outside the ladies’ room when she was on a sort-of date with Wayne. Definitely not in front of Brek.
“If you’d pick up your damn phone, you’d know that’s not what I want.”
Oh no. He didn’t get to be pissed. He had no right to be angry. Tocussat her. He was the one who had gotten her all kinds of turned on and then left her with her panties around her ankles.
Mortifying.
