Page 28 of Puck & Make Up

And now…me—being dragged along by an overgrown hockey player.

“Hey,” I growl. “Let me go.”

“Here,” he mutters in response—notletting me go, for the record—but shoving a to go cup from the coffee shop in my hand. “Drink this,” he orders.

“Let. Me.Go.”

“It’s your favorite,” he says. “A vanilla mocha with cinnamon and oat milk.”

“I—”

He knows what I drink?

“I know everything about you,” he murmurs, stepping closer, until I’m surrounded in his warmth again. “I’m obsessed.”

“Fox,” I whisper.

He stops us next to a bench, sits and draws me down next to him. “Tell me.”

An order.

I should refuse on principle.

But…I can’t.

“What’s to tell?” I say miserably. “Roger’s done with my bullshit and now I don’t have a job again and—”Christ. My eyes begin to burn, and I almost start crying. For the second time in as many days.

Pathetic.

“Roger loves you.” Fox tips the bottom of my cup up slightly, reminding me to drink my coffee while it’s still hot.

Another order—albeit, a silent one.

I wrinkle my nose, but…it’s coffee, so I drink.

Mostly so I don’t start crying again.

“You think he doesn’t?” he asks.

I avoid the question. “Is this what making peace with each other is? Coffee and me bitching about my life?”

Silence.

Nothing more than the sound of the wind in the trees, the cars slowly driving by on Main Street, the barely audible yells of the kids having a great time on the nearby playground.

“It’s less bitching and more about having someone to confide in,” he says. “Instead of hiding at work.” He fixes me with a look. “Which, for the record, I think is what Roger’s move was about this morning.”

Considering that my uncle had said much the same thing—telling me to get a life and stop hiding—I can’t bring myself to argue.

Not when I want to be miserable.

“I’ll be fine.”

Fox snorts.

“I will be.”

“Is that why you were playing zombie in the parking lot?” he asks. “Why you fell apart in my arms last night?”

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