Boone
The knee-jerk panic I felt when Chloe stopped next to the seat Harlyn just vacated only intensified when I realized Harlyn was standing right behind me. I know I haven’t done anything wrong to either woman, but something about them meeting feels inherently wrong.
I’m not too concerned about Chloe, since we set our rules of engagement long ago and those rules are simple. If Harlyn would have still been seated across from me, the other woman wouldn’t have even acknowledged my existence.
This isn’t her fault. Hell, it isn’t anyone’s fault, it’s just life. It does mean I’ll need to have two conversations at some point, one sooner than the other since I plan on telling Chloe what we’re doing needs to stop. I want to see where things go with Harlyn. That was another one of our rules—no hard feelings when this ended, just honesty. The other conversation, which I might have avoided altogether if not for this chance meeting, will probably be a little more uncomfortable. I’ll have to tell Harlyn about my and Chloe’s history since they’ve met.
Chloe delivers a quick introduction while stepping back from the table. The look on Harlyn’s face, a little pale and a lot distressed judging by the strain around her pretty blue eyes and mouth when she retakes her seat, tells me she’s uncomfortable.
There’s a nagging feeling tugging at the back of my mind. Chloe mentioned that I didn’t respond to her text last night, but the last text I got from her was around lunchtime. What if?—
“You too,” I reply to Chloe’s hasty retreat as I pull my phone from my pocket. My suspicions are confirmed a heartbeat later. Chloe did text me again last night, and the thread was opened, because there’s no telltale bubble next to her name. Shit, Harlyn saw the message, and who knows what else. Is this why she was a little cold last night? A spike of anger has me clenching my jaw. Why the hell would she go through my phone?
“I was texting Parker when she messaged you. I didn’t mean to hit the notification when it popped up. I really didn’t, but I did scroll back through your messages.” She actually shrugs like it’s no big deal, but it’s a huge violation. My anger grows. Last night she even asked if it was okay to use my phone, like shecared what her invasion could mean for me, but clearly that was bullshit.
“I—”
“I’m sorry, I know it was wrong, and boy do I wish I didn’t see it, but I did.” Her interruption and confession do nothing to calm my irritation.
“Are you done?” We need to go. I can’t have this conversation here. When she just stares at me blankly, I urge, “Harlyn, are you done?” while nudging the tray to show her my meaning.
She jerks into action, grabbing the trash and taking it inside. “You guys leaving?” a voice asks the moment I come to my feet. I answer by walking away from the table.
Even mad, I’m still unbelievably aware of Harlyn when she joins me on the sidewalk. I’m also aware of the fact that she’s keeping some distance between us. A twinge of guilt tries to eat away at my anger, but I squash it. She has to know what she did was more than wrong and there are consequences. Even if I had a different job and her looking through my phone wasn’t a security matter, it would still be wrong. We barely know each other.
I let the indignant anger I’m feeling make my steps longer, faster, until I realize she’s falling farther and farther behind. When I stop and scan the street behind me, I get an unintentional look at her face. The slight curl to her lip and straight forward gaze tells me I’m not the only one who’s pissed. What the hell does she have the right to be mad about? And for that matter, why was she weird last night after seeing the message? It isn’t like I made plans to meet up with Chloe.
As soon as she’s within grabbing distance, I resume walking, but this time I keep my pace a little slower. We make it to the car much faster, since there was no meandering sightseeing, and I climb behind the driver’s seat. Harlyn pauses with her hand on the door handle, as if she’s contemplating not getting in.
I stand up and look at her over the top of my vehicle. “Get in, Harlyn, we need to talk.”
She blinks once slowly, then opens the car door and lowers herself into the seat with more grace than I could manage on a good day, let alone one where I’m aggravated. When both doors are closed, I don’t waste any time getting on the road.
“Well?” she inquires several blocks from my apartment.
“Well?” My mimic of her words comes out incredulous.
“You said you wanted to talk.” She crosses her arms over her chest while staring straight ahead.
“You clearly knew my phone wasn’t open for perusal.”
“I did,” she agrees flatly.
“Then why the hell did you do it?” I’m not being loud, but my voice is definitely hard.
“I told you, opening the thread wasnotintentional, but kill me, I got pretty damn curious when itaccidentlyopened it to find you offering a rain check to what was clearly a hookup.” She turns to look at me now, and a weird feeling swirls in my gut. “So excuse me for being curious about the man I just slept with making arrangements to be with someone else.”
“I wasn’t making arrangements!”
“Okay…” She shakes her head, and if I could see her face, I would bet she also rolled her eyes.
“I wasn’t.” I sound defensive, because I am. Saying rain check didn’t mean I was actually going to cash it in.
“Got it.”
“You don’t believe me.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Just like you don’t believe that I didn’t click the notification on purpose.” Her tone is flat again, but she has me there. I didn’t even take her response into consideration.
