Page 17 of Shattered Veil

Your, um, glow in the dark makeup was cool. Where’d ya buy it?

Stupid. All of those options were idiotic because they skirted around the actual matter at hand, and Cassie was too smart—too inquisitive of a woman not to see behind my false intentions. That aside, none of those words would have been near enough. I felt as though I needed to crawl on my knees for forgiveness. To tell her that I was shocked at the sight of her—frozen underneath her as she moved above me, and when our eyes locked, I had splintered and snapped. That pushing thoughts of her out of my mind was one of the hardest tasks I had ever been daunted with, and that was why I was an asshole—I was pushing her away for obvious reasons, and I was so fucking sorry. But I couldn’t do all of that because…y’know…the insinuation.

There was no middle road that appeared to me along the lines of apologies. Not now. And I hated myself for that.

Monday was a distraction, at the very least, because work was…interesting. I was no longer drowning myself in the day-to-day monotony of my job. No—now, I had workplace drama. The moment that I walked to my cubicle, I saw Shawn’s dark, curly head whip to mine from the adjacent workspace. He wore a cringe on his face as he watched me set my things down with care.

He leaned on the edge of his desk, greeting me with a long, drawn out, “Heyyyyyy, buddy—”

“Why are you hey buddying me?” I returned.

Shawn’s green eyes darted to the left and right, finding the other cubicles beside us unoccupied. “Have a good weekend?”

“Shit weekend,” I retorted. “And I feel like you know I had a shit weekend and why because you’re alarmingly up to speed regarding my personal life.”

“Is…now when I officially apologize about Gas Lamp?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes.”

He gave me a meek smile. “Sorry. Shit idea.”

I exhaled heavily. “It’s all good, man.”

“I take it you didn’t talk to Cassie,” he remarked, glancing at the ceiling.

“No.” I was going to be snarkier, but when Shawn looked to me with a tinge of sympathy, I backpedaled. “No, I, ah—haven’t seen her. Haven’t reached out. I don’t have her number.”

“Right, right,” Shawn replied. “You should, though…mend bridges. Form bonds. Ask her out.”

I barked out a laugh. “Fairly certain that she hates me at the moment, but thanks for the sage advice.”

“Yeah, the tail end of that conversation wasn’t exactly in your favor,” he stated with a cringe. “Yikes, man. You have work to do.”

“You kept eavesdropping?” I asked him with high eyebrows. He shrugged, and I chastised him, “Brooks.”

“You were loud!” he defended himself. “It was impossible not to listen in. And I…kinda thought I’d end up hearing the beginnings of a feelings confession, followed by a kiss, followed by—”

“Shawn.”

“I strained my ears to keep hearing, okay? I’m sorry.” He did not sound sorry in the least. Shawn carried on with, “I’m a sucker for a good love story. I was rooting for you…despite the fact that you were a total dick, dude. What the fuck?”

“Are you a love doctor, Brooks?” I asked bitterly.

He shrugged. “I root for love when I see it. Apologize to her. Buy her chocolates.”

I stated plainly, “She’s twenty-two years old. That’s a little young for me.”

“Who gives a shit? Your brother’s girlfriend’s whatever that you told me about…Zoey. She was younger, yeah? What’s the difference?”

“Ah, that was a five-year age difference. This is nine.”

“So? What’s the rule for acceptable age to date…half your age, plus seven?”

The math in my head was lightning quick.

“Twenty-three,” I replied. “My youngest acceptable age to date would be twenty-three—”

“You rounded up!” he retorted. “Twenty-two and a half. It’s like you’re making excuses not to ask her out. I mean, fuck, man—you’re tense. I’d like to not see you walkin’ around the office with that look on your face anymore—”

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