Page 37 of Past the Broken Bridges

And after a night of drinking at a party we’d both been at, when Dawson was off doing God only knew what for Marco, Desiree made a move. In the back of my mind, I knew it was a dumb decision to let things progress.

But I did.

And when Dawson found out…

Well, things got bad. Fast.

I swore to myself I’d never hurt him that way again, especially not when he’s vulnerable. One wrong move would send him over the edge, and that’s what I’m trying to avoid.

“No,” I decide, looking over at the snack display again briefly before clearing my throat. “It isn’t like that.”

I can feel her eyes on me, but I opt to get back to work and ignore her for the rest of her shift.

Before she leaves for the day, she says, “In case you want to do stock, we just got a new shipment of food in. I left some of them out to go on the shelves.”

She knows stock is the one thing I hate doing, but I nod anyway and tell her to have a good night.

Twenty minutes before closing when I’m bored and trying to kill time, I go to the back and find the box she wastalking about. She left it out in the middle of the room with a note taped to the top.

Just in case there ever becomes a special someone in your life.

Sighing, I grab the box of Pop-Tarts and take it to the front to scan. When I clock out, I’m carrying the whole box with me and trying to ignore Lucy’s taunts echoing in my head.

* * *

The panicked look on Dawson’s face when I pull into the driveway has me on alert as I park my truck in its usual spot.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, closing the rusty door behind me as he walks over, rubbing the back of his neck.

His eyes go down to the Pop-Tarts, forgetting whatever is on his mind. “Since when do you eat those?”

He knows I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth. “The mood struck,” I reply, not willing to bring up the real reason and make him think twice about it.

Dibs.

Not that it matters.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he says, lifting his red-rimmed eyes to me. I try not making a face when the wind blows and I get a whiff of marijuana. I knew he liked dabbling in pot, but I thought he was going to try giving it up when his sponsor said the California sober tactic rarely worked.

“What about it?” I ask, frowning when he scratches his nose.

He looks behind him before his shoulders slouch. “I sort of suggested getting dinner with Dixie tonight, but I didn’tknow what day it was.”

Dixie?I don’t know whether to be confused or relieved. “I thought you called dibs on Sawyer. Isn’t going after the best friend a little cliché?”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” he replies coolly, eyes narrowing in accusation.

I hold up my hands in surrender because I’m not in the mood to do this with him. “It was an honest question. You’ve been all about Sawyer since she moved in. I didn’t know you were even interested in Dixie, since you were pushing me on her at the bar.”

Defense takes over his face. “Maybe I like them both. You’ve never had an issue playing people, so why can’t I?”

What the hell? “I’ve never intentionally played anyone, and you’re hardly the type to.”

“And why is that? Because I can’t get anybody I want like you can?”

I drop my head back and take a deep breath to calm myself before answering. “No. Because you’re a good guy.”

He’s quiet, cringing when he realizes what a dick he sounds like.

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