Page 167 of The Overtime Kiss

Which only bolsters my resolve.

“How was your…night?” I ask.

That isn’t awkward at all.

“Fine. I went to see Trevyn,” she says. “We grabbed some dinner.”

I wince. Right. Because she didn’t want to eat with us.

Because she didn’t feel welcome, you dumbass.

But they’re one and the same, aren’t they? Two sides of the same coin.

“Cool,” I say, scratching my jaw, needing to do this. For both of us. But especially for her. “Listen, Sabrina?—”

“My father stopped by today.”

It’s like I just walked into a wall. “What the—? He did? How did he?—?”

“He wanted that report. The one he texted about. I resent it,” she says, quiet. Like she’s testing something. But I don’t know what. I can’t read her.

“That’s all?” I ask, and I can’t hide the anger in my voice.

She sighs, her lips trembling the slightest bit. “He said…some things.”

I growl. That man. “Like what?”

“Just…” She closes her eyes for a second, then opens them. “That he should have asked me to get him VIP tickets tothe game, since…he saw us. Kissing goodbye. He…made assumptions. That it had been going on for a while. That it had happened before the wedding even.”

I see red. “That asshole. That flaming fucking asshole,” I say, ready to rip him to pieces.

Her eyes shine, and it hits me like a punch to the ribs. He’s why she cried earlier.

And I’m adding to her stress. With the kids, with the presentation, with the pressure. She’s barely free of that asshole ex, and now her gaslighting father has shown up again, and the last thing—theverylast thing—she needs is pressure from a guy like me.

I breathe out hard, letting go of my anger. Anger I have no right to feel.

“I’m sorry, Sabrina,” I say, lifting a hand, reaching out to hold her, pull her close, and comfort her. “I’m sorry he said that.”

But she just strokes the cat’s head, nodding. Like she’s saying she’s okay.

I lower my hand. Stay in my lane.

“It’s fine,” she says, her voice quiet. Stoic.

Is it though?

I don’t know. But that’s the problem. I don’t know a damn thing. Don’t know if she wants comfort or space. A shoulder to lean on or just a good time for a little while. A secret or something all too complicated.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asks, her voice stripped bare of emotion.

She deserves better than me.

I’m not a safe, easy place for her to land after a terrible ex and a shitty father. I’m the worst next thing for her.

She needs a laid-back guy, with an easy life and zero baggage.

“I don’t want to add to the stress in your life, Sabrina,” Isay. “You deserve to be happy, and if I’m making things harder for you, we should stop now.”

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