Page 55 of Common Grounds

“I don’t know.”

He eyes me warily. “I think you do.”

“I suppose you have a theory.” I cock an eyebrow at him. “If you’re going to suggest that this is because I’m now working with my one-night stand—”

“I’m not suggesting it,” he protests. “You’re suggesting it.”

“I’m not marrying Trevor.” My voice is flat as I try to convey how ridiculous it sounds. I’m not some middle school girl with a crush, doodling his name on my notebooks. He’s hot. And funny. And really sweet. We slept together once. I need to get my hormones under control. End of story. “I’m not marrying anyone ever again,” I say quieter. And I hear it, then. How sad I sound.

It sounded much more determined and logical in my head.

Ethan sighs deeply, his expression going thoughtful. It’s not piteous. He knows how much I hate that. But he’s known me long enough to know the whole story. How Derek systematically worked to make me feel as if I were cold and heartless. How he eventually cheated on me. How I left him feeling sad, sure, but every bit the empowered woman who wasn’t going to stand for that shit. And then, a few weeks later, I was laid off as part of The Gazette’s downsizing, even though Derek was not.

I wanted that marriage to work, despite seeing the writing on the wall probably earlier than I was willing to admit. I knew I wasn’t cold or heartless, but I wanted him to see it, too. Desperately. Turns out, he was probably trying to make himself feel better about the cheating.

That particular joke’s on him, though. I have one thing I absolutely will not tolerate in any relationship, and that’s infidelity. I left his ass as soon as he came clean to me. Cass and Vi graciously cut him out of their wedding photos that night while we all got drunk on cheap wine and ate ice cream out of the carton.

Of course, none of that mattered to my parents when it was all said and done. They were so disappointed. When the layoffs came shortly after, they couldn’t even look me in the eye the next time I saw them. I’m a big girl; I certainly don’t need their approval, but it would have been nice to have their support.

No way am I chancing that again. Nope. And as I remember the giggling yoga girls streaming into his shop this weekend, I know without a doubt that I need to shut this down right now. My resolve is complete. I’m not opening my heart to the resident neighborhood hottie. Too many opportunities for heartbreak.

Even if it’s my comments on that article that have been coaxing them through the doors. I almost laugh at the irony of it all—I’ve all but sabotaged my own feelings.

God, what a mess.

Ethan pulls in a deep breath through his nose and leans back in his chair. He gives me a sad smile, as if he knows exactly where my mind went. And, who knows, he might. He’s never met Derek, but him, Josie, and I became very close, very fast when I started working here. He knows enough to know exactly how I feel about the whole thing.

“Only you know what you need,” he says. “But it’s not against the rules to open yourself up again.”

“It’s against my rules,” I say quickly.

Ethan chuckles as he stands, lifting his mug from my desk. “Well, your rules are shit, so best of luck with that,” he says as he starts to make his way back to his own cubicle.

“Stellar advice, as usual,” I call after him, laying on the sarcasm. He doesn’t answer, so I’m left to grumble all alone as I scoot my chair back toward my computer, which is still showing the social media pages for the coffee shop.

I stare blankly, trying to remember what I was going to do with that besides stalk it for pictures of Trevor. No, definitely not that. Links. I’m after links. What is wrong with me?

I highlight and copy the first link. It looks like there are some recent photos up, but what catches my eye is a new pinned post of Trevor at the top of the page. It’s the same picture from the second article: Trevor in all his glory, his forearms on display and his brilliant smile directed at something off camera.

Not something. Someone. Me. It’s the same look he directed at me all Monday, and seeing it in front of me again brings that too-tight, crawl-out-of-my-skin feeling right back.

I bury my face in my hands, careful not to groan too loudly. I do not need to explain all of this to Ethan, who I know can hear me on the other side of the thin cubicle wall.

The problem isn’t necessarily that I’m embarrassed by how he keeps looking at me. The problem is that I like it. Way too much.

This has gone far enough. I need to get him out of my mind as fast I possibly can. I snatch my phone off the desk and open up a text message to Vi.

Emery: Going out tonight. Need a wingwoman. Geezer at 8?

Vi: It’s Wednesday.

Emery: And?

Vi: You're right. Who cares? See you there.

I click my phone off, then shut down my computer, too. I need to go see what hot wardrobe items I can scrounge up because tonight, my plan is to let someone else—anyone else—help me get Trevor out of my head.

Chapter twenty-two

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