Neither of us says a word.
Five minutes later, all is still quiet save the music playing on the radio and we’re on 75 headed north. If he’s not going to say anything, neither am I. What is there to say anyway?
Just when I’ve come to accept that we’re going to pass the entire ride home in blessed, golden silence, Josh ruins it. “Admit it, you only agreed to go out with Evan to piss me off.”
I’d been making it a point not to look at him, but I do now. His gaze hasn’t budged from the road and he doesn’t sound angry, but his jaw looks granite hard.
“I know this will come as a shock to you, Josh, but not everything is about you.” It wasn’t the entire reason, so technically, he’s wrong. And way too full of himself.
“No, but this is.”
I snort softly. “Jealous?” Yep, that’s all I got. When my back is up against the wall, I employ a little projection. Sometimes more than a little.
He doesn’t miss a beat in firing back, his voice close to a growl, “No, I’d just rather have spent the night alone with my girlfriend.”
It doesn’t land like a roundhouse blow to the gut, but I’d be lying in not admitting that it knocked the wind out of me. Whether it was meant to inflict damage or not.
“Pull over.” The words are out before reason and logic get a chance to catch up with my mouth. All I know is I can’t stand to be in this car with him for another second. Another minute will be the death of me—or him. Take your pick. But one of us won’t survive this. I mean it’s his girlfriend who planned this.
His girlfriend, not me!
Josh glances over, a derisive smile on his face. “Pull over? For what?”
I’ve come this far, I can’t back down now. “Stop the car. Drop me off there.” I wave my hand toward the shoulder of the road. The shoulder of a long, dark stretch of highway to be exact. I snatch up my purse from where I’d placed it at my feet and set it forcefully on my lap to show him I mean business. “I’ll find my own way home.”
Don’t ask me what I’m thinking or what I’m saying. Anger and hurt are running the show.
Josh cuts me an exasperated look. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not stopping the damn car.”
Of course he’s not. Josh may be many things—a liar, a jerk—but he isn’t going to drop me off in the middle of nowhere. He wouldn’t if we were within walking distance of my house, and that knowledge fuels my anger even more.
“Why did you insist on driving me home?” I exclaim, my frustration with the whole situation reaching critical mass. “If you’d let me call for a car, you’d be alone with your girlfriend instead of bitching at me about how I’m keeping you from her, even though you know damned well she’s the one who planned this.”
My outburst is greeted with stony silence, which has me clutching the strap of my purse so hard, my fingernails are certain to leave crescent-shaped indents on my palm.
Asshole. Do you know why he’s an asshole? Because he refuses to take responsibility for his part in all this.
“No, you know what, forget Chloe, this whole thing is your fault. If you’d just told her the truth, none of this would have happened.” There! Someone had to say it.
Something in the way his right hand tightens on the steering wheel tells me he knows I’m partially right and resents me for it.
“I told you, what happened between us has nothing to do with her.”
When I turn in my seat, the pull of the seatbelt against my shoulder is a brief respite from the pressure in my chest. I treat him to my one hundred-megawatt glare. It doesn’t matter that he isn’t looking at me and I’m only presented with his too-perfect profile. I’m sure he can feel it heating his skin.
“It has everything to do with what’s happening now. If—”
“If nothing,” he coldly interrupts. “All you needed to do was say no and that would have been the end of it. I don’t want her to know and my reasons why should be obvious.”
He’s treating me like I’m his dirty little secret and that’s really pissing me off. And it fucking hurts. “You don’t think your precious girlfriend can handle the truth?”
“Why make things more awkward than they already are?”
“What do you mean more awkward? Are you saying things were awkward before I met Chloe?” If he says yes, I’ll deny it to my dying day.
“Of course they were.”
I huff. “Speak for yourself.”
My flippant response earns me a longer than usual look, one filled with skepticism. “So dinner at Mitch’s grandparents wasn’t awkward?”
Yes.
“No.” Awkward is a mild understatement. Excruciating is a much more apt term. First because Paige and Mitch had deliberately kept me in the dark about him coming. They’d basically kidnapped me Christmas Day and squirreled me off to Mitch’s grandparents’ place. Paige had employed emotional blackmail to keep me there.
The following night, Josh had shown up for dinner. Needless to say, I was shocked to see him. And for a few seconds, I thought—hoped—this was his plan. An excuse to see me. But it soon became obvious he was just as surprised by my presence there as I was his. The evening went downhill from there.
“Really?” He quirks an eyebrow. “I thought someone was going to have to do the Heimlich on you when Mrs. Tolston asked if we were dating.”
“She meant if we were dating other people, not each other.” And he’s exaggerating, of course. My wine had gone down the wrong way.
“I know what she meant. But you didn’t seem to—not at first.”
In my defense, Mitch’s grandmother’s question caught me off guard. For a second, I did think she knew about us. And honestly, the last thing I wanted was for everyone and their mother to know what a monumental mistake I’d made by getting involved with him. I mean at that point Chloe was already in the picture so…ouch.
“And for what it’s worth, we never dated,” I point out as accuracy in recounting details of the past is critical in this instance.
“Yeah, because you preferred to eat in—as long as I was doing the eating,” he fires back testily.
My eyes go wide and my lips part. No he didn’t. I’m immediately bombarded by images, memories of us together, which obliterate all rational thought and I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. The one thing about his choice of Chloe that has been gnawing at me. “Well, so much for your aversion to blondes.”
Josh looks at me as if I’m one of those women who claims her latest celebrity crush—a guy she’s never met—is the father of her unborn child. Yeah, like I’m certifiable with a sprinkling of nuts.
“When did I ever tell you I didn’t like blondes?”
He sounds as if the idea is preposterous. As if a blonde’s appeal is so universal, a man is presumed interested unless proven guilty by a jury of his horny peers and sentenced to a lifetime of celibacy. Jerk.
“When you were playing with my hair, that’s when,” I snap, now at the stage where I’m this close to wringing his insensitive neck.
“When did I ever play with your hair?” He sounds even more bewildered. Apparently, that’s worse than being accused of not being into blondes.
I roll my eyes. “Calm down. I didn’t say you were adding highlights to it.” God forbid I offend his fragile male ego with something that makes him appear the least bit romantic. Booty calls aren’t afforded such affection.
“I’m serious, when did I ever play with your hair?”
He can’t remember. How like a man. His brain shuts down when he’s getting what he wants. “Funny how you remember how much I liked ‘eating in’ but you can’t remember what you said the first time you took me from behind? Does that jog your memory?”
After several tense moments of silence, Josh releases an audible breath and utters between clenched teeth, “Would you stop talking about sex.”
I snort and air quote my following statement. “As long as I was doing the eating. Those were your words, Bub, not mine.”
>
“You know, Erin, I just don’t get you,” he says with a weary shake of his head.
“Get me how?” It’s impossible to keep the pique from my voice because I’m pretty sure there’s an insult in there somewhere.
“Every time I think I have you figured out, you do something that…” He shakes his head again, his expression shuttered. “Why did you come tonight? Was it to get back at me?”
I blink, not sure if he’s talking ruin his date back at him or something else. Something that gets more to the root of what is really going on between us.
“Get back at you for what?”
This time the ensuing silence is thicker than clam chowder and as opaque as his expression. I stare at him, willing him to talk and do something he’s never done before—open up to me.
“Look, I just want to give things a real go with Chloe.”
The emphasis he places on the word real doesn’t escape my attention and hits like a slap in the face. As if to suggest that what we had—sex—wasn’t the kind of real that mattered. Certainly not when it came to choosing your significant other. Your soulmate. The love of your life.
That hadn’t been us. With me, he’d been having fun, biding time for someone like Chloe to come along, and when she did, I became yesterday’s news.
My spine stiffens and everything in me goes cold, my heart cemented in a block of ice. “No one’s stopping you from doing that, Josh. Least of all me.” I’m curt but polite, my voice not rising even a fraction of a decibel. This time I embrace the silence that accompanies us the rest of the way to the car park.
Chapter Eleven
Josh
“What time is the meeting with Franklin Stone today?” I ask Cooper.
Cooper Ryan is my senior graphics designer and the second-in-charge in the department. Right now, I’m doing double duty acting as both the project manager and the lead animator. I’m managing a team of seven guys and five women and we’re currently juggling two big projects. If we land the Franklin account, that’ll make three and a ton more work. I’ll probably need six additional developers, designers and animators to hit all our deadlines.
Coop, whose cubicle is right outside my office, looks up from the three computer monitors taking up the majority of his desk space. “Two o’clock. Sandy and I are going.”
I double tap the top of the partition with my fingers. “Change of plans. I need Sandy to finish the work she’s doing on RenderIt. Renault wants an update tomorrow morning, so I’ll be going with you.”
In attempting to delegate more, I’ve made it a practice to attend only the initial pitch sessions. I’ve left ironing out the details to the senior members of the team.
Coop’s mouth twitches at the corners, his expression registering only mild surprise. “Then we’re taking your car.”
“We’re outta here in thirty. And no, I’m not letting you drive it,” I say with a laugh as I head back into my office.
Franklin Stone’s office happens to be in the same building as ATL, Erin’s place of work. But that’s not why I’m going. Okay, it’s not the only the reason. Sandy really does need to make sure everything she’s been working is ready to go for Renault’s status meeting tomorrow.
You could have sent Kevin in her place.
Kevin makes introverts look like party animals. He hates client meetings.
Or Nadia.
Shut up. I’m going and that’s it.
Christ, why is everything a battle when it comes to her? Five days later and I’m still replaying the night of the double date over and over in my mind. I should have kept my mouth shut and not said anything about her and Evan crashing my date.
Did you go out with him to get back at me?
What the hell was I thinking asking her that? I sounded like a jealous lover.
You are a jealous lover.
Former lover.
Fuck you.
Face it, you’re still hung up on the girl.
Groaning softly, I drop into my chair and rub my hand over my face. Two weeks ago, my life wasn’t this complicated. Chloe and I were going along smoothly and thoughts of Erin barely crossed my mind. Okay, that isn’t exactly true, but I hadn’t been thinking of her ten times a day. Then she showed up at Mitch’s and now she’s plaguing my thoughts.
“The job stressing you that much?”
My head snaps up at the sound of my uncle’s voice. I turn to find him standing in the doorway studying me, a rueful smile on his face.
Wesley Anderson is my mom’s youngest brother. I’m forbidden from calling him uncle because he’s only eleven years older than me and he says he’s too young to have nephews who are fully grown adults. Everyone tells us we resemble. It’s the blue-grey eyes since all the men in my family are tall, dark-haired and fit, and I don’t get told I look like my father or older brothers nearly as much.
I laugh wryly. “Keeping me busy.”
Wes enters my office and closes the door. While almost everyone wears jeans and sneakers to work, my uncle prefers khakis, button-down shirts and loafers. The look suits him.
“What’s up? The last time I saw that look on your face it had to do with a girl.”
Did I forget to mention that my uncle is a perceptive son of a bitch?
I watch him as he pulls up the chair in front of me, stretches out his legs and gets comfortable. “Go ahead, tell Uncle Wes what’s going on.” Amusement lights his eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” he scoffs, waving aside my denial. “Don’t tell me you’re having problems with the new girlfriend already?”
“No, Chloe and I are fine.”
He arches his brow. “Chloe? I thought her name was—” He snaps his finger as he attempts to jog his memory. “It starts with an E. Who was the girl I met at your apartment last summer?”
“It wasn’t last summer, Wes, it was the summer before that. And I’m not seeing her anymore. I’m dating Chloe now.” I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned her to him a few times.
Wes’s eyes narrow as he regards me. “What happened to the other one? Tallish, reddish hair. She was pretty.”
My uncle doesn’t drop by my apartment unannounced often but one of the few times he had, Erin was there. As much as we—well really she—didn’t want anyone to find out about us, it would have been childish to try to hide her. All I asked of him after I somewhat reluctantly made the introduction was that he not say anything to my mom about it. It hadn’t been a big deal.
I’ll never forget what Erin said after he left. You never said anything about your uncle being a hottie. I laughingly advised her to keep her eyes to herself—and preferrably on me. I also remember bringing her to three orgasms that night.
“Nothing. We moved on and I’m dating Chloe now.”
Wes inclines his head in understanding. “Am I going to meet this Chloe woman?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, shrugging. “I guess it depends on how long we’re together.”
“Is it serious?”
Another shrug. “It’s only been a few months.”
Wes tips his chin up slightly, his gaze assessing. “Why do I get the impression you’re lukewarm on this one?”
“I don’t know. Chloe’s great. I like her a lot.”
He gives me a knowing look. “I hear a but in there.”
I swear to God, the guy is like a heat seeking missile when it comes to this shit. He’d known something was wrong when I was going out with Stephanie, and in a moment of weakness, I’d ended up telling him everything. Same goes for when Paige got pregnant with Bree and I’d been dispensing my invaluable advice to Mitch. And then of course, he’d been the only person who’d known about me and Erin while it was going on. What can I say, Wes is a good listener and more importantly, he keeps his mouth shut.
I sigh heavily, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to unburden myself. Maybe even get some advice. My uncle is pretty good at that, especially when it comes to women. “Erin is still in the picture.”
Wes’s eyes widen a fraction and there’s a perceptible tensing of his shoulders to indicate I have both his full attention and interest. I quickly lay out the facts about Erin and why she’s going to be in the picture for the long haul.
He doesn’t say anything until I’m done spilling my guts. “It sounds to me like you’re using Chloe to get over Erin. It also sounds as if it’s not working.”
Before I get a chance to strenuously object to that, he holds up his hand to halt my words. “Before you tell me you’re not using this girl—”
He took the words right out of my mouth.
“—answer this question, what would you do if Erin gave you another chance?”
“I don’t deal in hypotheticals.” I’m saying that now, but it’s something that has crossed my mind. Damn, it’s crossed my mind more than a dozen times in just the last two weeks. Seeing Erin again has been…stressful. And frustrating and confusing.
Wes snickers softly. “Then you may want to start. Don’t you think Chloe deserves a boyfriend who’s not hung up on someone else?”
Shit, when he puts it like that…
“Take it from someone who knows a little about women, Josh, rebound flings are one thing, but a rebound relationship is a whole other breed of animal. First, they never work out. Second, someone always gets hurt. And third, someone always gets hurt,” he concludes with a wry smile.
I brace my forearms on my desk. “Is that personal experience talking?”
My mother constantly bemoans the lack of a significant other in her baby brother’s life. At thirty-six, she thinks he should be married with children by now. Wes’s defense has always been that building his company needed to take precedence. Now that PixelGraph is grossing three hundred million a year, my mother is pestering him to make his personal life top priority.
He lets out a dry laugh. “You could say that.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Cooper through the floor-to-ceiling window by my door. I angle my head and when my gaze meets his, he holds up his wrist and taps a finger against his watch face.
Played (Trapped Book 3) Page 9