Chapter Forty
Kya
"Hello, beautiful. Aren't you going to invite me in?" Jackson asked. His bright white teeth flashed when he smiled.
Jackson was hard to resist. His tan skin, his warm brown eyes, the square jaw, he was the picture of the perfect man. He was also tall with broad shoulders. His biceps were well defined, his stomach flat and hard. He was stronger and more intimidating than his pastel shirts and friendly smile suggested.
I felt a cold chill despite his warm smile. "Actually, I would, but I'm just on my way out. I'd love if you wanted to walk me out," I said.
"I know, I know, the big title fight. I suppose you do have to go support your other client. Don't worry, you still have plenty of time," Jackson said. "Why not enjoy the view from your suite one more time? I mean, your boss wouldn't want it to go to waste while he's paying for it, would he?"
"I'm sorry, really," I said. "I promised some friends I would meet them early."
"Your friends will understand. Just tell them I wouldn't take no for an answer," he said. He stepped forward and put a wide hand on the suite door. "Come on, nothing wrong with us spending a little time together."
"Fine, let's go have a drink out by the pool. It’s one of my favorite spots. Where we first met for the second time." I tried to laugh, but it got caught in my throat. I almost choked.
He pushed hard against the door and stepped past me. If I stood my ground, he would have just shoved me aside. So instead, I shuffled back and had to welcome him inside. It suddenly seemed important not to upset him. Jackson smiled and there was still warmth in his brown eyes, but there was a sharpness, an impatience to him that put me on edge.
"I brought you a bottle of champagne. I knew you'd finally be alone, what with your other client off getting ready for his big moment. I think we should celebrate."
"Celebrate what?" I asked. The suite was isolated. There were no other guests on the floor that day. I did not like to think about how the soundproofing had already been tested by loud parties.
Jackson reached in his pocket and pulled out a manila envelope. "Here's the signed contract. Our business is finalized and that means we can put it aside. Now that it's done, we don't have to be so businesslike, either. We don't have to celebrate as colleagues – I don't want to be just your colleague."
"This is wonderful. I'll call my boss right away and tell him the good news. Like you said, get all the business out of the way," I said. I gripped the phone hard to stop my hand from trembling.
Jackson shook his head and reached for my phone. "Don't you think your boss would be really upset if you didn't close this deal? I mean, you'd have unhappy clients, and from what I've heard, the power tool people are longstanding clients of your boss. They'd all be unhappy if you messed this up somehow."
"And, how would I mess it up?" I asked. "I know things have been a little crazy here in Las Vegas, but the contract is sound and you have no objections. So, what is the problem?"
He dangled the signed contract high in the air. "I don't know. I'd like to say I'm a satisfied client. I'd like to think you've taken care of me."
"Is there something you want me to change? Let's go down to the hotel's business center and we can review the contract while we get my boss on a conference call," I said.
I headed for the door, but Jackson caught my arm and turned me around. "So professional, so polished. It’s very attractive. I like a woman who likes to get things done. Tie everything up in a pretty bow. That's why I can see a future with you, Kya. You know how to make everything look and sound so perfect."
"Thanks," I said. It was hard to tell what Jackson was thinking. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was just nervous because of Fenton's fight. All I knew was that my skin was crawling, and I did not want to be alone with him. "Well, if everything is fine with the contract, then I demand you let me take you out to celebrate. My boss would be mad if I made you settle for a quick drink in my suite. Especially one that you brought yourself."
Jackson held on to my arm, shook his head and smiled. "No, I think it’s my choice. I've made you happy by signing the contract, and now it’s your turn to make me happy." He set the champagne down on the coffee table and drew me towards the master bedroom.
My jaw dropped, but I could not force a sound out. I wrenched my arm free, unable to pretend anymore. "What exactly are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting, no, demanding as you said, that you stop teasing me and give me what we both want," he said.
"This is not what I want. I want you to leave," I said.
Jackson's smile disappeared. "Don't be like that, Kya, don't think you get something for nothing. You've got my business, the commission, and you've got me. Now, how about a kiss? Just a little kiss, to start."
"No. To start? Do you hear yourself? What do you think you're doing? I don't trade contracts for sexual favors, and I'm disgusted that you think that."
"Disgusted? I'm disgusted at the way you tease me. Do you really think you can get away with that? I know you want me. I'm practically bachelor of the goddamn year. So, when I say I want a kiss, the least you can do is give me a kiss."
"Is that what you asked Sienna for? When you cornered her at the golf luncheon? And to think I believed you," I said.
I backed away around the coffee table and tried to aim for the door. Jackson lunged and grabbed for my arm, but I twisted away at the last second. He stumbled and slammed his shin against the glass coffee table. I saw his face turn crimson before I turned and ran.
He made it to the door one step behind me and slammed his hands on either side of my head. He pounded them on the door a second time, for terrifying effect. I cringed against the door and felt panic cloud my thinking.
His breath was on my neck, but I forced myself to stop and think. Then, I ducked down and ran for my discarded phone. I scooped it up, but it was no comfort. Jackson had turned it off before he set it aside, and I had been pressing frantically at a blank screen. I turned it on and faced him.
His cheerful chuckle froze the blood in my veins. "And who exactly are you going to call? Your boss is thousands of miles away and will be more annoyed that you are compromising the deal than he will be concerned about your sudden chastity. Your big bad fighter is already at the arena. And, face it, whoever you call is not going to believe you, anyway."
"I'm calling the police," I said.
Jackson lunged at me again, and he knocked my shoulder as I turned. I stumbled off balance and saved myself on the edge of the couch. He was right behind me, his hands clamping around my waist. I started to pummel his chest with my fists, but all he did was chuckle again.
That is, until the front door of the suite splintered open. Fenton charged through the broken door and headed straight for Jackson.
Jackson backed off with his hands up, palms open. "Now, look what a mess you're gonna make poor Kya clean up. I'm telling you, he's no good for you."
"Fenton, I'm so glad you're here. I'm so sorry," I stopped when he waved me into silence. Jackson still stood between us, and Fenton was concentrating on his opponent.
"This is ridiculous and you know it," Jackson said. "What, are you really going to waste your chance at the title standing around here trying to accuse me of something that will never in a million years stick?"
"You're not above the law," Fenton said.
"No, but I know an awful lot of people that create the law, uphold it, and defend it. Face it, someone like me is untouchable, especially for someone like you," Jackson said.
"Not with witnesses," I said.
"Just you? Of course you're going to take your lover's side. It will never hold up. It looks like you two banded together to con me into this endorsement deal," Jackson tossed the signed contract on the coffee table.
"I know you did something to Sienna. Fenton and his manager saw it," I said.
"Again, a conspiracy," he said.
"Then, what about all those dancers at my sister's club?" Fenton asked. "You really didn't think they would talk to each other, band together against a threat? You're banned, the word is out, and they will have no problem making statements against you."
"No one is going to believe that bunch of whores," Jackson said.
Fenton lunged for him, his first kick landed on the side of Jackson's knee. Jackson cried out in pain but stood his ground and tossed a series of wild punches at Fenton.
The air fled my lungs. Fenton was going to get hurt before his title fight, and it would be all my fault. He was going to lose the title because of me. I could not let it happen.
Neither man saw me as they locked together, each determined to see the other bleed. I jumped over the white couch and grabbed the bottle of champagne Jackson had brought in. I stood up on the white cushions and waited for an opening.
Fenton slammed an upper cut into Jackson’s gut and I knew the next punch in the combination was a right hook to his cheek. Fenton could not afford to bruise or possibly break his knuckles on Jackson's face. So, I raised the champagne bottle high in the air and swung it down as hard I could.
There was a sickening thud, and Jackson crumbled. Fenton froze, his clouded blue eyes confused. Then, he blinked and saw me.
"Please tell me he's not dead," I said.
Fenton leaned down to check Jackson's pulse. "Not dead, not even fractured. Too bad."
He stood up, and I launched myself from the couch into his arms. "Thank you, thank you. I can't believe you came. I'm so sorry. Oh, Fenton, I never would have forgiven myself if you had gotten hurt. Oh my God, the fight! You have to go."
Fenton held me, his hand smoothing down my hair. "Shh, it's fine. You took him out in the first round. We have plenty of time. Are you okay?"
I felt my body shaking but the strength of his arms soon dispelled it. "I'm fine. You came for me. Wait, why did you come here?"
His lips curled into a smile inches from mine. "I came to see you. I wanted to make sure you were safe. Dana Maria told me about Jackson, and after what I saw with Sienna, I was worried."
"Oh," I said. I loosened my hold on his neck. "Thank you."
Fenton shook his head and laughed. He brushed a soft kiss across my lips. "I came for you. Turns out you were right. You said in your message last night that you had good luck. Well, I want some of it. Hell, I want you."
"You can have all my good luck. I don't believe in it anymore. I just believe in you."
LOUD
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Brooke
Moving sucks. However, it has become something of a tradition for me. I’ve moved more times than I care to think about. So many times, in fact, that I’ve adapted to look at it as a reinvention of myself, a new leaf to turn, a blank page that I can use to rewrite my life. Instead of dreading it, I have come to use it as a new start.
Not that I had much choice in the matter growing up, with my dad in the military and being stationed all over the place. Don’t get me wrong, it was great in a lot of ways. I mean, not only did I get to experience different cities and different states, but I also got to live in a few different countries.
Of course, there were aspects of it that kind of sucked, too. I never got to make the kind of solid, lasting friendships that kids get to make when they grow up in one location. I admit I was rather envious when I saw other kids my age with their best friends who they'd known for most of their lives. I wanted those kinds of connections. But even with social media and cell phones, those connections always faded. Then there was my first real high school boyfriend—I had to leave him behind just about the time things were starting to settle in and get to the good part. So, yeah, moving isn’t always ideal, but life is what you make it. Or, so I’m told.
So, I found myself moving once again. Only this time, it has nothing to do with my dad getting orders to yet another Air Force base. Nope, this time it was my choice. And it was the right choice, considering the circumstances that led to it. Granted, if I wanted to maintain any level of self-respect, it was the only choice I really had after what he did to me. He who should not be spoken of. I didn't want to think about him, about that, about the place we shared together, about the trust I put in him, about the stability I'd longed for and thought I had finally found. Until it was all ripped away.
“Helloooo. Earth to Brooke! C'mon, I can't get this sofa off the back of this truck by myself, girl!”
Leslie.
The sound of her voice brought a smile to my face. I guess I did have some stability, after all. There's nothing quite like a best friend to distract you from a broken heart. Especially when she's as bubbly as Leslie. Okay, maybe bubbly isn’t the right way to describe her. Maybe a little left of center in the best way possible is more accurate.
“Sorry, Les, I was just-”
“Daydreamin', girl, like always!”
She rolled her eyes at me in that melodramatic manner that she is known—and loved—for. It’s really not a huge surprise to anyone who’s ever known her that she's majoring in drama. She'll land a part as soon as she graduates, I have no doubt.
I snapped myself out of the turmoil of thoughts and emotions crashing through my head and hurried over to help Leslie get the sofa off the truck.
“I’m coming. Don’t get too excited. Just hold on before you hurt yourself!”
I clambered up onto the tailgate of the truck and moved toward the cab, maneuvering around the 1970s iconic sofa. I squatted down low before I slid my hands into position and gripped the underside of the big piece of furniture. My dad’s voice played through my mind—Always use your legs to lift, not your back. I grinned a little to myself at the thought.
“Okay, Les, are you ready?” I asked.
She positioned herself at the edge of the truck's bed, clutched her side of the sofa tight, and gritted her teeth. “I got this,” she assured me. “Been doing squats at gym with Antonio. I'm ready, as ready as I've ever been!” Her over-the-top enthusiasm made me laugh. Especially considering I could barely see her face peeking over the top of the clunky sofa.
I tried to reposition my hands in a way that wouldn’t slip on the plastic furniture cover encasing Leslie's grandmother's still-pristine relic. One thing was for certain, the thing was sturdy. And there wasn’t a spot on it. Without the plastic covering, it looked as though it had just been delivered from the showroom. However, it had been sitting in Leslie’s storage since her grandmother had passed a few months before. And while it was kind of clunky, we both agreed that it was pretty much the most comfortable sofa either of us had ever sat on. Combined with the fact that the style of it was so retro that it was practically back in style, it was a no-brainer to use it for our new apartment. We'd saved more than a few dollars by not buying a new one, and we used the money we saved to buy other items that weren’t practically antique and were a little more our style so that we could decorate the apartment with flair.
Of course, before worrying about that, we had to actually get the sofa off the truck and into the apartment. Getting the thing onto the truck had been easy enough. Leslie's uncle—a big, burly, biker—had helped us get it out of her storage building and onto the back of the truck. But then he'd had to head off to work. It had sure seemed a lot lighter when we'd had a three-hundred-pound biker helping us lift it.
“Alright, you ready? On three,” I said. “One, two, three!”
We both grunted and tried to put our backs into it. We managed to get it up off the bed of the truck, but then Leslie's eyes started bulging white in their sockets and the look on her face was more than enough for me to know we weren’t going to make it far with the sofa.
“Put it down, put it down,” she managed to gasp. “Hurry, or I'm gonna drop it on my foot!”
“Okay, okay! Easy!”
We lowered the sofa back onto the truck bed and Leslie breathed a sigh of relief as she flailed herself over the back of the sofa. After a moment she stood, resting her hands on her thighs as she breathed in and out in deep breaths of exertion.
“So, ummm, what happened to 'I've been doing squats?'” I laughed.
She looked up at me and shook her head. “Clearly I haven't been putting enough weight on the bar! Damn, that sofa feels like it weighs as much as a small car!”
I leaned back against the rear window of the truck. “Well, we've gotta get it off here somehow. And we've gotta do it soon. My brother will be getting off work in about an hour and I've gotta get to the other side of town to give him his truck back. We need to have all of this stuff unloaded in the next thirty minutes…give or take.”
“Girl, I'm telling you, if I have to try get this big-ass sofa off this truck again without any help, I’m pretty sure my back is gonna snap clean in half like a lil' ol' matchstick.”
“Well, do you have any suggestions about what we’re gonna do? Bryan only agreed to lend me his truck for the afternoon.”
“Let me think,” Leslie said as she plopped down into the sofa.
The sound of a motorcycle screaming up the road distracted us from our current predicament. Even if we wanted to discuss ways to get the monstrous sofa into the apartment, we wouldn’t have been able to hear ourselves talk. We turned our heads as the motorcycle sped closer until a bright red, sleek and sexy machine with aerodynamic bodywork and sharp, purposeful curves came into view. The bike slowed down as it rounded the corner to our apartment block. The rider—a young, muscular guy dressed in a tight tee shirt and faded jeans—pulled into the parking space next to us, killing the bike's rumbling engine as he did. My knees went a little weak when he pulled off his helmet and grinned at us with a set of brilliantly white teeth. I almost expected to hear a tiny dinging sound like you’d hear on a toothpaste commercial. He had the square-jawed look of a cover model and despite having just pulled a helmet off, his dark chestnut hair was meticulously styled—short on the sides, but longer and flowing on top. His eyes seemed to hover on me for a few moments before his gaze moved to the sofa where Leslie sat. Then again, it could have simply been wishful thinking on my part.
“Nice bike, cowboy,” Leslie called out to him. “Is that a Suzuki?”
“Kawasaki,” he replied.
“Hmph. Got something against Honda or Ducati?” she asked with a grin.
“Not really, but I only ride Japanese bikes.”
“Do ya now?” she said twisting her mouth curiously. “My friend Brooke here lived in Japan for a while.”
“Nice,” he said, his stare moving back to me with a crooked grin turning up one side of his breathtaking face. “I'm hoping to visit Tokyo over semester break. I've always wanted to go. Maybe you can tell me some places I should check out?”
“Um, sure,” I replied, fighting back a flutter of butterflies in my stomach as he directed his attention toward me. “But maybe we should be properly introduced first?”
He chuckled warmly. “Of course, where are my manners? I'm Emerson Reed. I live just over there,” he said, pointing at one of the apartment buildings.
“No way!” said Leslie. “That's right next door to us!”
“Ohhh,” he remarked, dragging the word out a little with a suddenly mischievous, knowing glint in his eyes. “So, you're the new neighbors I've heard so much about.”
“Heard so much about?” I asked, wondering why anyone would be talking about us.
“And what exactly is it that you've heard about us?” asked Leslie.
Emerson looked us each up and down briefly and smiled. “Oh, this and that,” he replied, still grinning.
His gaze returned to the sofa on the back of the truck. “Wow. That is quite the sofa. I haven't seen one of those since I was about this tall,” he remarked, holding a hand to the side of his knee to indicate the height of a small child. “My uncle had one just like that when I was a little kid. Only, his was red. It didn't last too long, though. My aunt had a bunch of cats and they tore it to shreds. That was a tough sofa, though, I remember that about it.”
“Yeah, it's pretty solid alright,” Leslie sighed, rolling her eyes. “Too damn solid for us to get it off the back of the truck!”
“Say no more,” Emerson announced. “I'll go get my roommate, Chris. I think we can get it off the back of the truck for you.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “You'd help us out with it?”
When he looked at me, I could have sworn his gaze lingered over me for a few moments longer than necessary.
“It's no big deal,” he insisted. “We were just about to head off to the gym to work out anyway, so this'll be a good warm-up. You two just hang tight, I'll be back in a minute.”
He set his helmet down on the tank of the bike and jogged into the building. After he was out of sight, Leslie and I looked at each other, simultaneously bursting into a fit of giggles.
“Oh, my God!” Leslie exclaimed. “How freakin’ hot is he? And I saw him checking you out! Oh yeah, he's got a thing for you.”
A blush warmed my cheeks. “He wasn't looking at me like that.”
“Yeah, he was.”
“No, he wasn't. And besides, just look at him.”
“Oh, I did, girl, I did!” She cocked an eyebrow and grinned.
“C'mon, Les, that's not what I meant. We both know exactly what type of guy he is. Tight shirt to show off his physique. Big, flashy bike to attract attention. Shampoo-commercial hair that looks like it takes him more time in the morning to get ready than you or me. He's probably a self-absorbed douchebag who goes through girls like a Pez dispenser.”
“And, if he is? What's wrong with having a little fun with a guy like that?”
I shook my head and folded my arms across my chest, feeling a bit of defensiveness creeping in. “Maybe it's alright for you, Les, but I'm…I'm just not that kinda girl, and you know it. Besides, after the Andrew thing, I mean-”
“Oh my God, Brooke,” she exclaimed, giving me another one of her trademark eye rolls. “I thought we agreed that you weren't gonna bring up the A-word today. Please, his name doesn’t deserve to be mentioned. Ever. I know you're still hurting, but seriously, it’s been long enough, BeeBee. You have to actually make an effort to move on. I've told you a million times: I can't stand to see you stuck like this, unable to get past what he did to you. You're never gonna get over him if you carry on like this, you know that. Come on, you’re a smart girl! There's a totally hot guy who's clearly attracted to you, and he lives right next door! Look, I'm not telling you to jump in the sack with him right off the bat. Hell, take things as slowly as you're comfortable with. But seriously, don't write him off without even making just a little effort to get to know him! Who knows, he might be totally different than what you're judging him to be and-”
“He isn't,” I said flatly. I wasn't sure why, but a burning feeling of annoyance was bubbling beneath my skin.
“You don't know that.”
“And, you don't know that I’m wrong, either,” I countered. “Anyway, doesn’t matter. Besides, subject change: He's coming back with his friend.”
Leslie glanced up and saw Emerson coming out of the apartment building followed by a very muscular, deeply-tanned guy with short, spiky hair held in place with what I could only guess was an entire bottle of gel. Bulging muscles screamed against an impossibly tight wife-beater tank. I tried not to squint my eyes in a way that made it obvious I was questioning his decision to wear the garish gold chain that hung around his neck. He looked us each up and down without even trying to conceal it and whistled slowly from between his teeth.
“Ladies,” he said with a cheeky smile. “Welcome to our kingdom! I'm Chris, King of the Realm. And, you two are obviously the princesses we've been waiting for.”
He laughed boisterously at his own joke while Leslie and I shot each other sideways glances out of the corners of our eyes and shook our heads as we chuckled politely. There may have been a little controversy regarding what kind of guy Emerson was, but there certainly wasn't any about Chris.
He hopped up onto the back of the truck next to me and pulled his sunglasses down his nose a bit so that he could lock his brown eyes with mine for a second. I looked away, not wanting him to see the distaste in my eyes and think I was being completely rude. Thankfully, he seemed completely oblivious to it.
“I heard you ladies needed some muscle,” he said as he flexed his enormous biceps. “Well, as you can tell, there's more than enough of that to go around!” He grinned and flexed in front of us again, prompting a bout of giggles from Leslie. I couldn't quite tell if they were mocking giggles or if she was, on some level, actually attracted to this dim-wit.
Again, Chris laughed loudly at his own lame joke, and I couldn't stop myself from shaking my head and wondering just what type of girls fell for this guy; no matter how hot his body was, he was a tool.
“Okay, bro, grab that side,” he said to Emerson, who now seemed a lot more reserved and quiet compared to his loudmouthed friend.
“I got it, man,” Emerson said as he gripped the edges of the sofa.
“Okay, hit it!” instructed Chris, and the two of them grunted and maneuvered the heavy sofa from the back of the truck.
While Chris was clearly vying for our attention, I found it easy to ignore his brash arrogance. It wasn’t so easy, however, to ignore Emerson. While Chris' physique bordered on the ridiculous—there was no way he wasn’t on steroids—Emerson's was more natural, less extreme, but powerful nonetheless. I found my gaze lingering far too long on the rippling muscles of Emerson’s arms as he carried the heavy sofa across the lawn. I had to admit, the way the afternoon sunlight caught the stubble on his jaw as he turned toward me took my breath away just for an instant.
Several grunts later (and more ludicrous comments from Chris), the two of them disappeared into our apartment with the sofa and emerged a few minutes later, each covered in a sheen of sweat that enhanced their well-developed physiques. Emerson hung back, dabbing at his sweat with a handkerchief he'd retrieved from his pocket. I smiled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a younger guy carrying a handkerchief. Chris, on the other hand, walked immediately back over to us, smiling suggestively all the while.
“Any other heavy lifting I could help you two with? Now or…later perhaps?”
Leslie laughed and folded her arms across her chest. “Thanks, Chris, but that was the only thing we needed help with. We're super grateful for your assistance, but I think we’re good.”
“You sure? I mean, that sofa was nothing really. Nothing compared to what I'm about to go smash in the gym. Seriously, if you need us to help out with anything else, we're down.”
“Thanks, guys. We’ve got it from here,” Leslie reassured him.
Emerson took a few steps closer to us and looked up into the back of the truck. His eyes met mine, and I turned away quickly.
“Are you sure you guys don't need any more help?” he asked, directing the question at me.
“We're totally fine now, thanks,” interjected Leslie.
“Yeah. We’re good. Thanks,” I said, still avoiding eye contact.
Chris shrugged. “Alright then, ladies. So, uh, what time is the housewarming? I'll bring Jell-O shots and vodka. Say nine, nine thirty?”
“There isn't gonna be a housewarming,” I said, aware of how cold my tone had suddenly become. “We have a lot of unpacking to do, and since we have class Monday morning, this has to get done. We're both swamped this semester, and I seriously don't think we're gonna have time for parties.”
Chris stared at me for a moment and then he shook his head. “Whatevs. You only live once, yo. Life's too short to waste sitting behind a desk staring at books all day. And yeah, speaking of short, we're gonna be late for gym, bro! Jason already messaged me like ten minutes ago saying he was waiting for us.”
“Alright,” Emerson replied. “Let's go. See you around, uh…”
“I'm Leslie, and this is Brooke,” Leslie announced.
“Leslie and Brooke,” Emerson said as if he was completing his sentence. “It’s really nice to meet you both. I guess we’ll see you around sometime, and welcome to the neighborhood.”
With that, he climbed onto his bike, while Chris climbed into a sleek, black sports car. No real shocker there. Emerson started his bike up and revved the engine before spinning the back wheel as he took off. Chris winked at us as he pulled out of his parking space. Leslie laughed, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. When they were gone, Leslie grabbed a box from the tailgate of the truck and grinned up at me with a look I knew all too well.
“Come on, BeeBee,” she said. “You have to admit you saw it. Emerson couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He’s totally got a thing for you.”
“I have to admit nothing,” I fired back, trying to sound less defensive than I felt for some reason. I didn't want to think about that guy, or any guy for that matter—not with thoughts of Andrew still swirling around my head. It had been months; I knew I should be getting over it, but for some reason, what he had done still haunted me.
“Can we please just forget about it, Les? I'm not in the mood. Let's just get the rest of this stuff into the apartment. I've gotta get the truck back to Bryan soon.”
“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “But seriously, you’re going to have to lighten up sometime.”
Yeah, I thought to myself.
I am.
But not today.