Page 53 of That's Too Pucking Bad

I barely make it through the morning before I spot her. Remy. And she’s walking right for me, jaw tight, eyes blazing.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She doesn’t wait, doesn’t give me time to brace myself.

I stay quiet, swallowing hard. Her eyes search my face, angry but hurt too.

“You pushed Colin on the ground?” Her voice rises, and I catch the looks from people nearby. She doesn’t care.

I finally manage to speak. “Remy, he’s no good for you. He was there with…”

She shakes her head, angry. “His cousin! Yeah, she called and told me that some guy in a hockey jersey walked straight up to my boyfriend to yell at him.”

Oh, shit. Hiscousin. I run a hand through my hair. I fucked up.

“Remy,” I start to say but she cuts me off.

“He is a good guy. I am the one who cheats remember? Or have you forgotten how much you like calling me yourlittle slut?Surely you cannot have forgotten that, Zane.”

I had no idea the nickname affected her this much.

I reach out to touch her, but she flinches and takes a step back. “Don’t, Zane!”

“Baby.”

“You do not get to do that, Zane. You don’t get to... do that and think it’s okay.” She presses something into my hand, and I look down. The phone. The AirPods.

“Remy—”

“Do not fucking force me into anything else,” she snaps, cutting me off. “Whatever this... whatever this was, it’s done.”

“That’s fucking dramatic, Rem.”

“Fuck you, Zane!”

She turns and storms off, and I’m left standing there, my hand still holding what she’s just thrown back at me.

Yeah, I fucked up badly.

I stare at the mess of records in the store, feeling more than a little out of my league.

“You sure she’s into this many Taylor Swift records?” I ask Maya, flipping through yet another album.

Maya sighs, unimpressed. “Positive. Trust me, the more, the better. Get all of them.”

“All of them?” I raise a brow, but she’s already motioning for me to hand them over so she can check out the cover art on each. “And what if she doesn’t even have a record player?”

“Good point,” Maya smirks, cocking her head, “better grab one of those too.”

I snort. “Alright, why the hell not?” I say, grabbing a sleek black record player. “Anything else? Maybe a shrine or a personalized Taylor Swift autograph?”

Maya rolls her eyes. “This is an apology gift, not a confession of undying love, remember? You messed up, you fix it. The girl likes music, and she deserves something decent after all that crap you pulled.”

“Just friends. That’s all I’m aiming for,” I say, but even as I say it, I know it sounds hollow. Still, I grab a basket, loading it up with albums, records, and that player. “Alright. This should make up for it. She can’t possibly ignore this, right?”

Maya gives me a skeptical look. “It’s a start. But the apology note— don’t half-ass it, Coburn.”

“Already planned out in my head. It’s good,” I tell her confidently.

She gives me a side glance like she’s already skeptical, and we check out. Outside, we load the bags into Maya’s Range Rover. I toss everything in the back, making sure the note’s still tucked in there.

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