Page 13 of Monsters, Vows, and Growls
Since I had a suspicion that it had something to do with me, I tried to ward her off, "Not particularly."
"Fine, I’ll tell you."
Yeah, no such luck with Carol.
"I'm in a damn crappy mood because my two best friends are too stubborn to admit to themselves that they're still in love with each other. Always have been. Now, one of you is going to have to man up and make that happen. Are you a man, Patrick?"
She sounded exactly like my old football coach. "I take offense to that line of questioning."
"Quit stalling. Ask her out. And Patrick?"
I was almost afraid to utter a sound, "Yeah?"
"Grow the fuck up and grovel."
She hung up on me. I wasn't sure what exactly I had expected from her when I called, but it sure as hell wasn't to have my ass handed to me.
Grovel? I stared at the phone like it had betrayed me.
Finally, Thorne growled from inside me.Someone said it.
I flinched. “Oh, great. You’re awake.”
Awake? I’ve been wide awake for three days while you’ve been walking around like a horny teenager in a lumberjack costume. Watching you trip over your own thoughts is physically painful. You almost knocked over a paint ladder yesterday because her sweater slipped off her shoulder.
“I did not.”
You absolutely did. And if I have to sit through one more hour of your inner monologue about her neck, I swear to the moon, I’m going feral and dragging you both into the nearest closet.
“You're not helping,” I muttered, glancing at Ella again through the window. She was frowning now—adorably, infuriatingly—at two nearly identical beige swatches, like the fate of the universe depended on her decision.
You're right. I'm not helping. You need professional help. Possibly sedation.
“Shut up.”
You shut up,he huffed. You’ve been walking around with a hard-on and a broken heart forthree!days. You’re one apology and a well-timed kiss away from fixing both, and instead, you called Carol.Carol, Patrick. The woman who once threatened to burn your house down if you ever made Ella cry again.
“She was right to,” I muttered.
Of course, she was. And she’ll be right again when she rewrites this whole disaster into a romance novel calledChef’s Kiss of Death.
I dragged a hand down my face. “She told me to grovel.”
Good. Start groveling. And maybe take your shirt off while you’re at it. You look like you belong on a damn romance cover. Might as well weaponize it.
“You are not in charge of my love life.”
You clearly aren’t either.
I opened my mouth to argue, but then Ella stood up, brushed dust off her skirt, and smiled—softly, thoughtfully; she looked proud of what she'd done. Like she was at home in a place I’d built from the ground up. I felt something twist hard in my chest.
There it is again, Thorne murmured, quieter now.That thing you pretend isn’t real.
I swallowed.
“I’m going to screw this up,” I whispered.
Not if you start talking. Not if you stop hiding.
