Page 24 of Don't Remind Me
Her gaze flicked to my lips, and my pulse hammered against my skin as my eyes dropped to her mouth, my every thought evaporating except for how soft her lips must feel.
Then she pulled away, breaking the spell as a shock of cool air rushed between us.
“Um…okay.” A flustered smile touched her lips as a blush crept up her throat. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” A lightness in her voice hinted at relief, and she tucked a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at me one last time before turning for the door.
I stuck my hands in my pockets, staring after her until she disappeared around the corner and my sense of equilibrium returned.
I knew exactly where I’d be every Monday from now on.
Chapter Eleven
Dani
The internet was an incredible thing—nearlyunlimited information available with the click of a button. Yet as I clicked to the tenth page of my latest search results, I wondered if I’d hit a limit. Chances were, if I hadn’t found what I was looking for on pages one through nine, I wouldn’t find it on ten, eleven, or twelve, but I skimmed the page and clicked to the next one anyway. My brain was blanking hard on ideas, and doing this at least felt productive.
My gaze fell to the clock in the bottom corner of my screen. Ardena opened in six minutes, and the clinking of silverware being polished and tables being set floated up the stairs to where I sat in Jillian’s office.
I’d worked at the bar most of the day, the kitchen staff flowing around me in a well-practiced routine that was equal parts fascinating and relaxing to observe. It was like a tightly choreographed dance; everyone knew exactly what to do and where to go, moving in sync through a thousand complicated steps made to look simple from how well practiced they were.
When the serving staff arrived at four, I’d moved up to the office, though I could have called it a day. Probably should have, seeing as my brain felt like a chewing gum bubble that had been blown to its limit and would burst across my face if I attempted to fill it with another thought. What I needed was to go home, eat an early dinner, and get a full night’s sleep.
Except I didn’t want to go home yet. Didn’t want to eat dinner on my couch by myself and give my mind a chance to think about all the things I didn’t have to worry about within the safety of these walls. Things like nasty words, hateful comments, and violent people.
I hated that they’d gotten to me. That they’d hooked themselves into my mind and made it impossible for me to let them go. I wanted so badly to be the type of person who wasn’t bothered, who could simply brush them aside or be strong enough not to care, but I wasn’t.
I was just afraid.
Afraidto go home to the stillness and quiet of my apartment. Afraid to be there alone.
Yesterday, when I agreed to work from home, I hadn’t realized how afraid of it I was until Jase offered me a different option. That note on my car made me feel exposed, like I’d been locked in a glass box that anyone could see into at any time, and his invitation to work here was like pulling a curtain shut. At least for part of the day.
I knew my brain would eventually stop randomly producing worst-case scenarios. I’d stop tensing at random noises in my studio, and the tiny apartment would go back to feeling like the home I’d started to create. But right now, it just felt like another place where I might be exposed without anyone to turn to for help.
That was a downside to moving around so much: not having people. No boyfriend to come stay with me, no neighbor to keep an eye out, no friend’s couch to crash on. I’d never minded before. I had yet to meet a jar I couldn’t eventually open myself, and if I needed a cup of sugar, I went to the store.
But now? Beingnot alonesounded really nice.
I could probably stay with Robin if I asked, but would that be weird? We were friends, but maybe not to the level of “crash on your couch because of a potential stalker” friends. That seemed like it should come after “get sloppy drunk and black out on your couch” friends, which we hadn’t yet achieved, though that one at least felt close.
Then again, this probably wasn’t that big a deal. Last night had been fine. This morning too. There’d been no sign of anyone following me, no creepers lingering outside my apartment. Even my social media had cooled off. Now, I just needed my keyed-up anxiety to follow suit.
Five more fruitless pages down the search-result rabbit hole, and I finally gave up. I closed the browser and leaned back in Jillian’s absurdly comfortable office chair. That, along with the antique-style wooden desk, was the extent of the furniture in the small space. Unlike the dining room, she’d kept her office simple.
I stared at my spreadsheet. “This should not be that difficult,” I said to myself.
“What’s that?”
I startled, smacking my hands on the desk to stop from tipping over the chair. “Jesus,” I said as I took in where Jase leaned against the doorframe. Even relaxed, his tall body filled the space, claiming all my attention. It really wasn’t fair someone could look so good while scaring the shit out of you.
He smirked. “Sorry. I was just coming to check if you were still here.” He nodded at my laptop. “Problem?”
I sighed. “Just trying to come up with a few more silent auction ideas for the gala. We’ve already got a bunch of smaller items, like a massage package at a local spa and a weekend getaway at the hotel where the dinner’s being held. Plus a date night here, courtesy of Jillian.”
He nodded at that, his icy-blue eyes smoldering—yes, smoldering—as he paid attention to my every word.
He had a way of doing that—listening so fully his body went still, his every focus on the person speaking to him. I’d seen him do it with Jillian before. His staff too. I was still growing used to it, so accustomed to fighting not to be spoken over in the corporate world. Or by my mother, who pretty much lived in the corporate world, so I guess that made sense.
“But I’d like to find at least one or two bigger items to help us reach our fundraising goal,” I continued, looking back at my incomplete spreadsheet. “So far, none of our board members have found someone to donate a boat.”
