Page 82 of The Reluctant Hero

“They’re very curious about whether or not Ace found you.”

I roll my eyes. “So they can tell Loser I’m really having an illicit affair. Maybe that’s why he’s sending the flowers.”

“He’s contacting you?”

“Sending flowers to the office with letters I don’t give a shit about. And leaving some at my place by the mailbox.”

“How have you reacted?” She tilts her head and sips her water.

“Ignoring it. Telling Harriette to take her aggression out on helpless flowers. The usual.”

“You should send him a message back.”

“I’m not encouraging any of that crap,” I tell her darkly.

“I wouldn’t consider a severed body part encouraging, but I don’t know him.”

I gape at her and then heave a sigh. “We’re moving on to a topic that doesn’t involve crimes or dismemberment.”

“You’re lazy.”

“Too true,” I agree without caring. I try to think of something off the wall to distract her from the weird path she’s on. I don’t think discussing the weather will do it. Maybe acting as psycho as my mom will help. It’s all about violence, love, or babies to her.

“So! When are you and the boyfriend getting married?” I’m asking too loudly for shock value.

She blinks, leaning back. Did that surprise her? Holy shit, she displayed a mini-emotion. Look at that.

“It hasn’t been discussed,” she stares over my shoulder thoughtfully.

“Maybe you should. You guys seem really happy together.” If you can call zero expression between two people happy.

“Do we.” Her eyes snap to mine with an intensity that’s somehow concerning.

“Yeah,” I answer warily. “He does this kind of soften-up thing around you. It has to be good for him.”

“You think I’m good for him,” her eyes narrow.

I lean back with a confused frown. “Yeah?”

“He thinks I’m going to leave. Constantly. Do you think marriage will help settle the panic attacks?”

Whoa. TMI. I don’t know how to close this can of worms. Damn you, Mom.

Her eyes narrow, and her tone turns gritty, “Answer me.”

“Don’t be a dick while I think to myself,” I snap back without much heat. Then I turn my mind to the problem with a wince. I did this to me.

“Do you mean literal panic attacks or an exaggeration?”

“Literal,” she doesn’t hesitate to share what could be something her boyfriend doesn’t want to be known.

“That’s concerning,” I mutter and a plate of nachos is slid in front of me while I contemplate.

“His therapist also claims that our relationship is a sham that will end. She isn’t helping the cause. I plan to visit her soon.”

I choke on a chip and sputter out, “Why not join him for a session instead?”

“What would that do? My method would be more effective.”

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