Page 44 of Sweet Hate
If he decides to ask her out while she’s here, I can’t say shit about it. In fact, my dumbass was stupid enough to give him the green light to do just that last night.
My whole body goes rigid at the realization. Why’d I do that?
She doesn’t say another word to me as she walks out of the bakery, leaving me desperately breathing her vanilla caramel scent like a drowning man would oxygen.
This shit right here is why I need to stick to my damn plan.
Fix the bakery. Get out. Avoid her. Forget her.
Lucas clasps my shoulder, snapping me back to the present.
“Well, you sure as shit screwed that one up, bro.”
His merry tone does nothing but piss me off further. Shooting to my feet, I aim a glare at him but in true Lucas fashion, he gives zero fucks, throwing his hands up with a laugh. I’m so glad I’m a source of amusement to him.
“Don’t. Just. Don’t,” I say, barely getting the words out through my clenched teeth. Sucking in a deep breath, I switch my focus to the bakery and try to calm the beast. “Do you want to poke around and tell me what you reckon needs doing and how soon you can get it done?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea. Your girl was very enlightening and walked me through the place already. I need to double-check how soon we can get a replacement fuse box and circuit breakers so I can come back to you with some sort of timeline.”
Your girl. Right.
“OK, if they give you the option to rush anything if we pay extra, just do it. Money isn’t an issue. I just need to get this place operational in time for that wedding.”
“Course bro. Hey, wanna go grab breakfast at Macy’s? I’m starving.”
My first instinct is to say no, still pissed off with him over Haven, but maybe I’ll feel less inclined to murder my best friend after coffee.
15
AXEL
If you send photos to a group chat, then it’s not weird for your friends to save them, right?
I mean, some people have the automatic save setting on. Smart people. They don’t have to physically press save and feel like a creeper.
Stretching my legs up onto my desk, I glare at my phone again.
I can usually go hours without looking at my phone, so the number of times I’ve picked it up, tempted to stare at her photos, borders on insanity.
It’s pointless anyway. I don’t need my phone to picture her in that lace dress. It’s burned in my brain. I can picture it crystal clear every time I close my eyes.
Sighing, I close my eyes and bang my head on the back of the chair one, two, three times. Maybe it’ll knock some sense back into me.
Opening one eye, I look at my watch. Eleven p.m. Well, shit. It hasn’t even been half an hour since I last checked the time. The rest of the guys are in the bunk room getting some sleep, which is where I should be instead of hiding in my officelosing my mind.
Grabbing my phone again, I open my photos and scroll to my hidden album. Ignoring the one I see in my dreams, I open up the one of her holding cotton candy as big as her head. Her wide smile is infectious, and I catch myself smiling back at the screen. My pretty pink pixie.
I set that one as her contact picture before setting my phone down again. Now, every time she messages me, I’ll get to see it.
Except she never contacts me.
Whose fault is that dickhead?
Dropping my legs to the floor, I lean forward and stare at my cell. If only I could use the Force, Jedi style, to have her contact me…should I text her?
Aren’t you supposed to be avoiding her?
What’s happening to me? I don’t do this. I’m usually the one in control. I make a decision, and I stick to it.
