Page 57 of S.O.S. Billboard

Was O’Shea hoping for a hail-Mary? Was she hoping that Billboard would have a sudden change of heart?

Screw that.

“You know what? I’ll actually get back to you tomorrow, and between us we’ll discuss whether it will work.”

Without hesitation, they both picked up their cell phones and shared numbers.

“That’s great,” Mrs. Jakes smiled widely, clearly warming up to the idea. “And please, call me Anna.” Her head tilted. “That’s funny. I’ve only heard you called O’Shea,” she puzzled. “What should I call you?”

“O’Shea is fine,” she assured Anna. “Just O’Shea.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Billboard had been angry for days.

Now he was both angryandconflicted.

O’Shea wanted to move out?Hell no. Well…maybe.

Would it make things worse, or better?

If O’Shea did move out, it would give them both space, which might afford a better prospective on what was happening between them. On the other hand, if she left, would he ever figure out exactly where his head was at?

With her around him almost constantly, getting to know each other had been going pretty smoothly, and had followed his unwritten agenda that before anything physical happened, they needed to know what made each other tick.

He and O’Shea had managed to chum around, swap interesting info regarding their lives, and they’d gotten along extremely well, hanging out together. True, they hadn’t gone near anything controversial, but he could almost see a moment coming where he’d be able to let his guard down and share…at least some things.

Then he’d blown it.

The minute he’d thought of O’Shea as “his” during the kidnapping situation, he’d become…bewildered. He’d floundered. He’d had questions. Was feeling proprietary toward a woman healthy?

Billboard scoffed.

O’Shea certainly wouldn’t think so. Being labeled as “belonging” toanybodywould go against her nature.Thathad been easy for Billboard to figure out. He understood she’d probably be amenable to a partnership; one where she and her man of choice were equals, but the whole possession thing?She’d hate it. And Billboard didn’t know if he had it in himnotto feel overly protective where she was concerned.

And of course, his confusion over what she’d think had leveled out to a low, resonating anger. At himself for being a clueless dick. He couldn’t figure out a better way to channel his emotions.

Now O’Shea was ready to leave, and it wasn’t helping his rage.

If she left, things between them would probably never be resolved. There’d be physical distance going against them, which would mean no more heart-to-hearts. Which meant that Billboard would never feel truly whole again, because he knew, deep down, that O’Shea was it for him.

But how could he pull himself out of the fury-pit into which he’d fallen; berating himself for wanting O’Shea when he wasn’t worthy to worship one ounce of her?

Sure, he’d managed to pretend, for the latter part of today, to tamp down the raging fire in his gut while he’d laughed and joked with the kids and his guys. He’d even managed to show a better face to O’Shea after she’d called him on his boorishness. But the need to beat himself up had never gone away, and he was concerned that once they got back to his house, she’d start packing and be gone before he could verbalize why he was being such a prick.

He glanced over at O’Shea, sittingsupposedlyrelaxed in the passenger seat. But he could feel the waves of anger and uncertainty wafting off her.

Billboard had opened his mouth, two, three…maybe half a dozen times, wanting to assure her that she was more than welcome to stay with him; that hewantedher to stay with him, but he couldn’t get the words out. And that inability to communicate when things got rough, would inevitably drive her away as it had Peggy. InPeg’scase it hadn’t felt so earth-shattering. In regard to O’Shea…? It was the last thing he wanted.

He cleared his throat again, but they were just pulling into his driveway, and…maybe opening up could wait until they got inside.

O’Shea was out her door first. “I’m hungry. All that talk of hotdogs made my stomach growl. I still have all the ingredients I bought earlier to make that étouffée.”

Billboard grunted. “You don’t have to cook. I know you’re still mad at me,” he managed.

“I’mmad atyou?” she scoffed, and snorted. “Let’s get real here, Billboard.You’rethe one who’s been nastier than a dog with its tail shut in a door for the last couple days. I’ve just been responding toyourmood.” She didn’t give him a chance to rebut. “Now, do you want food or not?”

There was only one answer. “Yes, please.”

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