I thought about it. “Not exactly.”
Wouldn’t have pegged him as a heavy metal fan if he hadn’t spammed my blog with Metallica-based sock puppets.
“Well, I do. I was—”
Pete, at the cube next to me, stood up and said, “Guys. Normally, I don’t care if you want to hang out and chat, but I’m on a deadline. Could you take it to the breakroom?”
Gabe checked his watch. “Want to go for a walk? No funny stuff. I’ll tell you the rest of this.”
My gut said no, but my brain said he was offering an olive branch, and I probably owed him an apology of my own for starting the online war. “Sure.”
He held the glass door open for me and said, “I feel as though we got off on the wrong foot.”
His willingness to let go of a valid grudge mollified my own attitude. A little. It was more than Shane had done.
The elevator doors opened, and we waited side by side, surrounded by strangers from other floors. How could there be such an infinite supply of strangers? After a week working in a small building in Indianapolis, I at least recognized everyone. Every day in New York was a total reset. Gabe was beginning to feel like an old frenemy in comparison.
As we exited the building, he steered me around the corner, away from the crowds.
“So, you were telling me about Metallica.”
“That can wait. What’s troubling you?”
I sagged. “I guess I owe you an apology as well.”
“What for?”
“First for the cyberbullying. I thought I understood what it would be like to be on the receiving end.”
He laughed. “It’s not fun, is it?”
“Not in the least.”
“But that’s not what’s wrong, is it?”
The truth slipped out. “You were right about Shane.”
“How so?” He stopped walking and turned to face me.
“He kind of proved your point.”
“Do you mean—?”
“We seem to have what they call irreconcilable differences. He wants me to have no interest in musicians, and I want him to have a little faith in me.”
He pressed his lips together, more sympathetic than I would have expected given the circumstances. He reached over and touched my arm. I nearly jerked back, but he said, “Layla. I’m sorry. I mean it.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “Whatcha gonna do?”
“I’m serious.” His fingers tightened. “You deserve better.”
Clearly, he meant himself. His eyes softened, and those pretty lips curved. I could objectively see that he was attractive. And attracted to me. He’d apologized. If we’d only just met, I might have given him a chance.
It wasn’t like I’d be cheating on Shane either. Shane had thrown away his shot.
But Gabe and I hadn’t just met, and there was too much water under the bridge. He sent my spidey senses into overdrive, and my heart revolted at the thought of him.
“Gabe.”
