Page 32 of Craving Francesca

“What have we said about using female body parts as insults?” I asked in exasperation.

Brody smiled and shrugged.

I shook my head in exasperation. “Thanks.”

“You wanna tell me what he did?” Brody asked quietly.

I thought about it for a moment, shame making the skin on my chest flare with heat. “No.”

“Okay,” he replied simply.

The boys only stayed for another hour, and after they left, Lou and I curled up on opposite ends of the couch to read. When I’d gone back to grab my book, she’d already taken away my bedding, and I could hear the washing machine toiling away across the hall. We stayed there on the couch for the rest of the day, even though we should’ve been cleaning up from the party. My anxiety was so acute that I couldn’t make myself be productive, and Lou refused to leave my side.

I called in sick Monday and Tuesday. By Wednesday, I’d drummed up the courage and made an appointment with the clinic that I’d been going to since high school. They didn’t have any openings for over a week.

Going back to work filled me with so much dread that my heart pounded, and my hands grew clammy the moment I climbed into the car. I didn’t see Scott the first day, he was checking out a job we were working on the other side of town, but I knew that I’d have to face him at some point since he’d been blowing up my phone.

Everything made me jumpy. Every sound, every time the phone on my desk rang, every time someone stopped by my office. I was a nervous wreck.

By the time he finally stepped into my office, it felt pretty anticlimactic.

“Hey, you have a minute?” he asked quietly.

I stared at the man I’d been dating and felt nothing. No sadness, no affection, barely any recognition.

“What’s up, Scott?” I asked, clenching my fist around the pen I’d been using.

He reached for the door like he was going to close it behind him, and I jerked to my feet.

“Leave it open,” I ordered.

“Frankie,” he chastised, his hand still on the doorknob. He looked at me like I was a toddler throwing a fit. “Really?”

“Please leave the door open,” I repeated, a little louder.

“You’ve been dodging my calls.”

“I’ve been busy,” I ground out.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You think?” I asked sarcastically.

“Come on, are you seriously still pissed?” he asked condescendingly. “You’re overreacting.”

“This conversation is over,” I ground out through my teeth. I wanted to hop over my desk and scratch his face off.

“It’s not like you can avoid me forever,” he replied. “We work together.”

“You work in a completely different office.”

“Not anymore.”

“What?” I choked out.

“I was planning on telling you.” He leaned against the doorway. “I talked to my uncle and transferred over here. I thought you’d be happy.”

“I don’t care where you work,” I lied. I really wished he hadn’t transferred.

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