Page 20 of Falling Madly
The thought smacked me in the ribs, and I leaned away from the source of that scent. I had no business lusting after him. Not because I hated him. I’d forgiven him, for my own sake. I was a busy woman—I had no energy to hold grudges or hate a guy I had to work with. But he’d shown me who he really was. That was core stuff, and it never changed, right? We could be friends, but that was the extent of it.
He’d apologized later, claiming he did it to protect me. I would have hated that job. I would have hated that client. He had so many excuses, but nothing could change reality. He’d known how much that gig meant to me, and he’d killed my dream.
Trevor was the easy-going guy who got along with everyone. The guy who always sided with his superiors, and never rocked the boat. So, of course, he’d gone along with Charlie. By sticking his neck out for the woman whose boobs the client had rated, he would have risked losing their respect. And anyone who craved the respect of such douche wads was a spineless coward.
I needed someone in my corner who truly had my back. Maybe I needed a guy who was a bit of a caveman. I probably should have figured that out before the whole dating-Richard fiasco because he was as far from a caveman as one could be,other than maybe in the sense of spreading his seed around town—now that I knew what he was really up to.
No. Richard was more likely to offer helpful statistics and inspirational quotes than defend me. “There are two sides to every coin,” he’d say. When someone had stolen my bicycle, he’d berated me for not investing in a high-quality lock and eventually argued that the thief might have been in great need. We simply didn’t know all the facts, and he was obsessed with gathering information and looking at it from every angle like he was shooting for an ‘A’ with a college essay.
I should have run.
I shook my head as if to rid myself of the unwelcome thoughts. There was no point in dwelling in that chapter. All I wanted to do was close it and move on.
I removed the scarf and folded it back into the bag. “Very impressive.”
“Do you knit?” he asked.
“Not well. I never had the patience for crafts.”
“But you have the patience of a saint when it comes to creating graphics.”
I shrugged. “I like having the Z key. It’s hard to go from that to creating in the physical world. Every time I try drawing or painting, my left hand does that involuntary Apple-Zed twitch.”
He laughed. “Undo. Undo. I get that.”
“It’s terrifying when you can’t undo!” I exclaimed, laughing along.
“You like keeping your options open, eh?”
His voice held a deep vibration that delivered more meaning than I could handle. I bristled a little but smiled. “How else can I find what works the best? I have to try lots of options. If you commit to anything too early, you might get stuck.”
“Is getting stuck the worst thing you can imagine?”
I bit my lip. I sensed he wasn’t talking about work, but I was not ready for this. My throat felt tight. “Who the hell enjoys being stuck?”
He gave a slow nod, keeping his eyes on the road. The lighting had turned moody, with tall trees shadowing the winding road from both sides. I felt each curve in my belly, like on a roller coaster.
“Are you saying I have commitment issues?” I asked, fixing my eyes on the road.
“No, but it sounds like I touched on something.” He flashed me a quick smile. “I didn’t mean it like that. If it helps, I’m way more messed up. My therapist would back me up on this if he didn’t have that confidentiality thing.”
“You’re seeing a therapist?”
“Aye.” He took a deep breath, his shoulders tensing in a way that made my whole body tighten. “Ever since… what happened wi’ us, you know, I’ve been aware that I need to change. So, I’ve been working on that. And I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For showing me I was on the wrong path. I could have followed it to my grave and never taken charge of my own life.”
“Are you talking about smoking, or…”
“I’m talking ‘bout everything. And I know I don’t have a lot of time with ye, so I want to get it oot.”
I frowned. “You already apologized. I forgave you. There’s no need to rehash it.”
“You wrote me off, Teresa. I’ll regret that night for the rest of my life.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.” I tried to smile, but the joke fell flat.
