Page 114 of Let It Breathe
“And other things.”
Reese shook her head and looked down at the bottles of “pork” at her feet. “I don’t have the energy to deal with other things right now, Clay. There’s a lot going on here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed. I heard Eric shouting about the misprinted labels. I’m sorry.”
Reese squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her pen between her palms. “I don’t know what to do about any of this. I’m at a total loss here.”
“Look, I can draw up some work-arounds,” Clay offered. “Modifications in the plan, alternate ways to approach the project, corners we can cut in the LEED certification process.”
Reese blinked at him. “Is there really anything to cut? Everything was already so lean in our budget. We’ve already made such a big public deal about this whole project. What does it say about Sunridge Vineyards if we can’t stick to our plan?”
“That you’re human?”
Reese snorted. “That’s no excuse.”
“Sounds like a good one to me.”
“Are we still talking about construction?” she asked. “Or does the ‘only human’ apply to everything around here?”
Clay released a long, slow breath. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about the ‘other things.’”
“I changed my mind.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. Look, Reese—I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I made a lot of dumb decisions when I was drinking, and I don’t even remember half of them.”
“Convenient,” she said. “You get to make dumb decisions and forget all about them, and everyone else gets stuck cleaning up messes and getting punched in the nose.”
She saw him wince, and felt bad for hurting him. But hell, she was hurting, too. Why should she be the only one?
She knew there was a flaw in that logic but didn’t want to dwell on it.
“I deserve that,” he said, and looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry. I’m really so sorry?—”
“Don’t you get tired of apologizing all the time?”
Clay blinked. “Well, it seems like there’s no shortage of things for me to apologize for.”
Reese took a deep breath. “Look, Clay—it was a dumb mistake. A fling, okay? A momentary lapse in judgment.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Which time?”
“Both. Either one. Especially the other night, though. Really, can you imagine anything so stupid? A vineyard manager and a recovering alcoholic? It’s like an animal rights activist and a fur coat designer or a—a—” She struggled to find another analogy but couldn’t come up with anything, so she settled for rolling her pen faster between her palms.
Clay shook his head. “People change, Reese.”
“I haven’t. Not one bit in the fifteen years you’ve known me. I mean, look at me, I’ve still got the same damn nervous habits, the same books, the same flannel shirts, the same hairstyle. I haven’t changed at all. Why the hell would I believe you have?”
“Give me a chance to prove it. I know you can get over your hang-up about us if you just?—”
“My hang-up? So it’s all about my issues, is it? What about you?”
Clay frowned. “What about me?”
“You’re so terrified Eric might find out about us that you won’t even look at me when he’s in the room. This whole stupid guy code thing you two have—like he already peed on my fire hydrant, so you won’t even sniff me when he’s around?” She stopped. “That sounded weirder than I meant it to.”
Clay shook his head. “I’m happy to sniff your fire hydrant, Reese. The guy code thing isn’t that big a deal.”
“No? Then why don’t we go out and find Eric right now?” She took a step toward the door and watched him flinch. “Why don’t we go let Eric know you fucked me so hard the other night I still have bruises on my thighs?”
