“Why is it you hate me so much? I thought we were getting along,” he asked.
He was right. They had gotten along a few times over the last few days, but being in a bar with him brought back bitter memories.
Typical man. Couldn’t even remember.She shook her head. “Think about it. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
He leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. The fabric of his long-sleeved shirt tightened around his muscles, and she had to tear her eyes away before he could catch her staring.
“I’ve been trying to figure it out since the day I met you.”
She laughed out loud. “You’ve been trying to figure it out for eleven years?”
His eyebrows merged. “Wait, what? Eleven years? We met when Jessica and Travis started dating.”
“No, we met in college.”
Confusion crossed his face as he thought for a second. “At UCLA? You went to UCLA?”
Her mouth dropped open. How fucking rude. He couldn’t even remember that he stood her up. What bullshit!
She stood up and tipped her head back to drain her glass of ginger ale before setting it back down on the table. “I’m going to bed.”
Her plans for a quick getaway were foiled when she remembered she still had crutches to deal with. She tried to hurry away, but he fell into step beside her.
“I didn’t know you went to UCLA. We’ve met before?”
“Wow. Really, Brent? You can’t even remember that you stood me up?”
He stopped walking but caught up to her when he realized she would not slow down. “Candy, I seriously do not know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re unbelievable!” She whirled on him and lost her balance. He stepped forward and caught her, righting her before stepping back and acting as if nothing had happened. Her cheeks flamed.
“Fill in the blanks for me. Tell me when it happened.”
“Oh, my God, Brent. You’ve stood up enough women that you can’t even remember you did it to me?”
He threw his hands up. “Candy, I’veneverstood anyone up.”
“You can’t say never when you stoodmeup.”
He pressed his hands to his face briefly and then dropped them. “Candace. Please. Tell me when.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We met at the bar on First Friday, our senior year.”
First Friday was an event that took place at their college. The first Friday of every quarter, the students who were of age all went to the bars and partied. It was there that Candace first met Brent.
The elevator dinged its arrival, and they stepped on alone.
“And I asked you out?” Brent asked.
She nodded slowly. “You came up to me at the bar and asked if you could buy me a drink.”
As if a light turned on, Brent’s eyes slightly widened, and he nodded.
“That was you?” he asked, but it was more of a rhetorical question to himself, so she didn’t respond. “I remember. I asked you out on a date for that Saturday—the little Italian place. But I didn’t make it.”
She shook her head. The elevator arrived on their floor, and she crutched her way down to her room, stopping in front of it.
“Candace, I’m truly sorry. I, uh—“ He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I was in a car accident that morning.”
