Page 147 of Holding On

"Doesn't sound like nothing. Does this have to do with Becca?"

"Just drop it, okay?" I check my phone. Still no messages from Becca. "Could you give me a ride?"

"Sure. Where are we going?"

"I need to stop by Becca's apartment before she goes to work."

"Doesn't she usually come here?"

"Yeah, but she didn't today. I'm guessing she's mad that I made her leave yesterday."

"You told her to leave?" He chuckles. "You better show up with flowers. Telling your girlfriend to leave? That's harsh."

He's right. I shouldn't have done that, or at the very least, I should've been nicer about it, especially since I've done it before.

"Do you know where to get flowers?"

He laughs again. "Hell, yeah. I've been in trouble enough with girls to know where every flower store in town is." He grabs his duffle bag and walks past me. "C'mon. Let's go."

We stop to get the flowers, then he drops me off at the entrance to Becca's apartment building.

"You want me to wait?" Jackson asks.

"No, Becca will give me a ride home. It's on her way to work."

"You sure she'll give you a ride?"

"Why wouldn't she?"

His brows rise. "You kicked the girl out of your house. You really think she's gonna forgive you that fast?"

I hold out the flowers. "That's what these are for. And then I'll explain why I did it. She'll understand."

He shakes his head. "You're fuckin' clueless when it comes to women."

I look at him. "And you're not?"

"I know it takes more than flowers to get a girl to forgive you."

"Then what's it take?"

"Depends on the girl. Becca doesn't seem like someone who just moves on after you piss her off. You might have to show up at her door at least ten times before she'll forgive you."

"I'll talk to her. It'll be fine. You can go."

He hesitates. "You sure?"

"Just go," I tell him, then shut the door.

When I get to Becca's apartment, I knock on the door. She doesn't answer.

I knock again. "Becca, it's me." She still doesn't answer so I keep knocking. "Becca, I know you're in there. Open the door. We need to talk."

She finally opens the door, already in her Chicken Shack uniform. Damn, she looks hot; that short, tight dress showing off her curves, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. But instead of her usual smile, she's tight-lipped and her eyes are narrowed.

"What do you want?" she asks.

"Here." I hand her the flowers. "These are for you."

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