Page 30 of The Problem with Players

“You definitely didn’t tell me that,” I said.

“I’m sure I did. You were probably just wrapped up in your baseball stats and schoolwork,” he replied.

“No. I would’ve recalled your ex-girlfriend of four years coming to work with you for two weeks,” I sharply countered.

Wesley looked at me, stunned by my words. His voice dropped. “Don’t start, Ave…”

Don’t start?

“It’s actually a really exciting project. I think it could cause this guy to reach new levels in his career,” Drew stated as she walked up the steps, grinning ear to ear as she entered a conversation she wasn’t invited to join. She then rubbed her hand up and down Wesley’s arm. “He’s a brilliant mind. We might as well use the best of that brain of his.”

I tilted my head and stared at her hand on Wesley’s arm. I then looked at him, and the look was enough for him to shake Drew’s touch from his arm.

I never wanted to stab two people in the eyes more than at that very moment. Yet I still managed to push out a smile. “Lovely.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not crashing at your place. I was just hoping to use your bathroom before I headed back to my hotel in Chicago,” Drew mentioned as she scooted past me and walked into my house without an official invite.

Wesley must’ve noticed my bewilderment. There was so much to unpack from the interaction, including why Drew was driving him home that afternoon.

“My car died, and I needed a ride home,” he quickly explained. “Drew was already in the office, and it made sense for her to give me a ride home. Shortly after, my phone died. We ended up staying at my office for a while, talking to other people. You know, nerd stuff. Then she said she was hungry, so we stopped for a quick bite.” He held up the food containers. “I brought you leftovers.”

“I already ate,” I snipped. “The dinner I made for us.”

He frowned. “Sorry. I should’ve found a way to reach out to you.”

“You should’ve also gotten me a whole meal of my own. Not your doggy bag,” I grumbled.

“You’re right. I messed up.” He kissed my cheek. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll make sure things are clearer moving forward.”

“Swear?”

“Swear.”

Drew came back out on our front porch, wiping her hands against her thighs to dry them. “Thanks for the toilet, Avery. And thanks for buying me dinner, Wes. It was delicious.”

Heboughther dinner? She called himWes? He hated being called Wes. At least that was what he told me. I wasn’t a jealous girl, but based on the level of anger building within me, I was seconds away from punching Wesley in his privates.

I never knew I could hate someone more than I hatedNathan, yet Drew and Wesley were shooting for first place on my shit list. Anyway, currently, my hatred meter for Nathan seemed a bit…off. But alas. Life came at you quickly.

Drew hugged Wesley—orWes, as she called him—a little too long if you ask me. I stood there stunned as her hands rubbed his back as if her fingertips were trying to find their way through his jacket and clothing so she could touch his bare skin. Listen, I wasn’t one to hate women. I was a girls’ girl through and through, butscrew that woman. I needed someone to send her back to hell, where she came from.

As she let him go, she had enough wisdom in her not to try a hug with me.

“See you at the wedding, Avery!” she sang before hurrying to her car and driving away.

I stood on the porch quietly with Wesley, unable to find the exact words to express my anger.

“How far in the doghouse am I?” he asked. I narrowed my eyes at him and gave no response before I headed inside, only to hear him say, “That far in, huh?”

Wesley sleptin our guest room, which was for the best. I didn’t sleep much at all, but somewhere between the few hours of rest I did receive, Wesley placed a note beside my bed that said, “I’m sorry for yesterday. Took an Uber to pick up my car. Let me make it up to you tonight by cooking you dinner. Love you.”

I read the note a few times before I sighed and fell back against my pillow.

The pressure was back, resting heavily against my chest as I lay in my bed. I wondered if anyone else in the world ever struggled the way I did with getting out of bed some mornings. It was as if every inch of them was kidnapped by an invisiblesource, which made it impossible to move as the judgmental voices in their heads grew louder and louder with every passing second.

That Saturday marked two weeks until my wedding.

Two weeks until forever.

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