Page 24 of Those Heartbreak Scars

“Uh…” I glance at the board over her head. To the cappuccinos and lattes and extras you can add to each drink. But none of that is what I want. “I’ll take the biggest cup of I’m so fucking sorry, Rica. Two shots of I regret that I hurt you. And a spoon of can I please explain myself?”

“Name?” she asks in a bored tone.

“Asshole,” I say. “Or Dumbass?”

The woman on the machine has been listening to our conversation and leans toward America to say, “Twatwaffle? Cockwomble? Bell end?”

“You pick,” I tell America as I pull a few pounds out of my wallet and stuff them in the jar next to the register. “I’ll take one of those Danishes too. I’m really hungry because I have been scouring the coffee shops around here for a friend of mine so if you spit in it, I’m still going to eat it.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” America tells me, then glances at the lady behind me. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“She wouldn’t,” I say. “But I would still deserve it.”

“You are…” She rings up the order with a roll of her eyes. “Impossible.”

“Talk to me,” I beg as I use my phone to pay.

“You can take a seat or wait over there.” She points to the area where everyone else is waiting for their caffeine hit.

“I’ll sit,” I say.

I find a table with two seats near the window and settle in. I check my messages and emails. Her boyfriend—she said she wasn’t sure, but he wants to be—hasn’t responded to my email yet. I can’t imagine he will if she filled him in on what happened last night.

That would be bad news for me. I need Mann.

“I’m on break.” America drops my Danish and coffee on the table and sits. “You have ten minutes.”

I put down my phone and pick up the pastry. If I have a black eye coming, then I have it coming. I study the glossy purple filling. Blueberry. It’s not my favorite. “You spit in it?”

She wrinkles her nose. “No, I did not spit in it.”

“You should have.” I bite off a mouthful and chew. “You could spit in my mouth, and I wouldn’t complain.”

I’d think it’s fucking hot.

“What the hell, Gray?” Her eyes widen and her brows raise.

“That’s not…” Apparently I said that last thought out loud. And I meant it exactly how it must have sounded. Like I’m flirting with her. Like I cannot stop thinking about the way we are together.

I always felt the need to be careful with Indy. Like she was fragile and needed to be protected. Like she was made of glass and I was always afraid that I’d break her. America makes me want to do all the dirty fucking things.

I put the pastry down, dust off my fingers. Reach across the table and touch her cheek. “Rica, it’s pretty obvious that I’m attracted to you. And I care about you. As a friend.”

“But I’m not Indy.” She pulls away from my touch.

“I hurt you. I made being friends with me more uncomfortable for you than it already was. That’s the last thing I wanted. I apologize. It was not my intention.”

“I may have overreacted,” she says. “Hearing you say you could never date me hurt a lot more than I expected it to.”

“It’s not that I couldn’t date you,” I admit. “You’re gorgeous and sexy and fun to be around. You have confidence. I’ve always enjoyed your company. And the last two times we’ve run into each other have been so fucking hot.”

“Then why say it?”

“Because you need to know that the problem is all me. Telling EJ there could never be anything between you and I was metelling him that I can’t exorcise his damn sister from my life no matter the distance I put between us. She festers in here like a wound that refuses to heal.” I grab my chest. “I hate it, but that doesn’t seem to make a lick of difference.”

“That bad?”

“Bad enough that I would rather make it very clear than have you get your hopes up that there could be something here.”

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