Page 16 of Without Regret

CHAPTER EIGHT

Trevor

As I sat in my apartment hours after the barbeque, I realized I was having a hard time with Emma friend-zoning me. Not that I was arrogant, but this had never happened to me with a woman. At least we’d struck some sort of balance earlier tonight at the barbeque. I could tell she was becoming more comfortable with me. When I’d started my story about the Roomba—God, the expression on her face had been priceless.

Perhaps she was skittish due to the working arrangement. Considering how professional she acted, maybe she had qualms about crossing that line. Hell, this wasn’t college, and she wasn’t a girl with whom I was simply sharing classes, so perhaps I needed to use more caution myself.

I’d hoped getting to know her would let the attraction wane. It was inevitable an initial intrigue would wear off, but with her this wasn’t the case. I could argue the attraction remained because of the challenge, but I wasn’t that type of guy. I think it was more that I found she wasn’t like other girls. She wasn’t easy to get to know, but I sensed something deeply guarded there that would be worth the wait.

Unless, of course, she’d been telling the truth about me not being her type. But then what was her type? Perhaps it was time I found out. It wasn’t as though I’d try to be someone I wasn’t—I was comfortable in my own skin—but I was beyond curious. And there was nobody better for this task of discovery than my sister.

After the barbeque, she’d gone out with friends who now lived in the area. When she returned, sometime after eleven, I went to join her in the kitchen, hoisting myself onto the counter top while she took a bottle of water from the fridge.

“How was your night?” I asked.

She sighed. “Okay. But I think I need new friends.”

All thoughts of Emma were swept to the side by the sad tone in my sister’s voice. I’d hoped nights out with her friends would help. “Why do you say that?”

“Do you think I’m superficial?”

Uh-oh. She was asking a question in answer to a question. Not a good sign when it came to women. “No, of course I don’t.” She might be a bit spoiled, but she was also kind-hearted, loyal, and sweet.

“I think I might’ve been a bit self-centered for the last few years.”

“Avery, you’re young. Everyone in college is self-absorbed. Hell, if there’s an age to do it, that’s a good time. What’s this truly about?”

She leaned against the wall. “I’m not sure. Guess I’m just reevaluating friendships.”

Considering she and her ex-fiancé, Edward, shared a large circle of friends, and he’d cheated with her best friend, I wasn’t surprised by this statement. “Then reevaluate who you want in your life. Happens every few years as people go their separate ways.”

“But you still keep in touch with your best friend from years ago.”

This was true. Mason and I had been close since our freshman year of college. Even while he’d been in the Marine Corps traveling the world, we’d kept in touch. In a million years, I couldn’t imagine him ever betraying me the way Avery’s best friend had betrayed her. It had been a double betrayal.

“You okay?” It killed me that I couldn’t simply make this breakup better for her. She’d gone from posting wedding ideas on Pinterest last week to the great unknown, something I knew would be scary for her.

“I will be. I just miss Mom.”

Shit. Of all things for her to say, that got me the most. As hard as our mother’s death had hit me, I knew it had hit Avery harder. What twelve-year-old girl should have to bury her mother? Then with me leaving for college a year later—I knew things couldn’t have been easy for her.

“Me, too. She’d be proud of you, though.”

Her expression was dubious. “For what?”

“For giving Edward the boot. You deserved better, you know.”

She smiled sadly. “I do know. But it makes me feel good to have a reminder. Thanks. How was your night?”

“Busy with work.” I’d gone over the dozen deals Simon and I had already walked through this week. Every day, I’d been learning more. “But on a personal note, I kind of have a favor to ask.”

***

One hour later, near midnight, my sister flopped on the sofa beside me, her recon mission evidently completed.

“Nothing. No Facebook, Twitter, or Pinterest account. I can’t find Emma online anywhere, with the exception of the company website, and that only gives her name. No picture. I mean how does a woman these days not have a Facebook account or, at the very least, Instagram?”

My sister was the queen of social media, and I’d hoped she might be able to do some reconnaissance for me. “Yeah, it’s a real tragedy.”

---