Page 43 of Hot Mess Express
If I couldn’t feel more like shit about that night, now Bridger has to go and prove himself a better person than me, brushing itoff like no big deal, like he’s covering my ass.
“Is that his jacket?”
I glance down at the jacket hanging in my arms. “Uh, yeah,” I say, coming out of it. “He left it at the … the church. Somehow.”
“He visited you last night while you worked?”
I blink, still staring at the jacket.
My heart races again.
Uncontrollably.
Bridger’s face, once more, in front of mine. His eyes, confused, bright and blue.
The sound of his breath crashing in my ears.
The touch of his lips on mine.
“Anthony?”
I flinch out of my thoughts so violently, I drop the jacket. “Uh, y-yeah, apparently, maybe, I don’t know.” I pick up the jacket with a single hand and offer it to him, suddenly not wanting to look at it or think of its owner for another second. “Speakin’ of, can you give this back to him? Please? Please just take it and … a-and give it back to him?”
Trey, who barely notices my sudden unexplained skittishness, smiles warmly at me. “Why don’t you give it to him yourself?” he suggests. “Come over for dinner tonight.”
I about fall through the floor. “Do what now?”
“Italian night at our house. Do you like Italian? Who doesn’t? Shrimp scampi. Pasta. More pasta. Garlic bread.”
He pats me on the shoulder like it’s already a done deal before hopping on over to the desk to snatch up his wallet. I’m paralyzed. I keep seeing Bridger’s lips. I can feel them, too. I swear I can feel them on mine.
His bright blue eyes.
Our hips smashed together.
My throbbing cock between us.
Or his…?
“See you at seven!” Trey cheerily calls out.
Then he’s headed out the door, even as I sputter, “But … But I got a … I-I need to do … I-I’m not available for …” My fake excuse doesn’t come fast enough. He’s already long gone, the jacket still hanging off my arm.
He probably wouldn’t buy any of my excuses anyway.
My heart hasn’t stopped racing.
I think I’m losing my mind.
Carla sighs happily from the desk. “I guess it’s a definite no-go on the date with my gal.” With a sly smirk, she vanishes back into her work—in other words: twirling pens around fingers—while I stare out the window, feeling like I’m about to shit a brick.
12
BRIDGER
All Trey says is: “Oh, we’ve got a guest joining us tonight.”
That’s it. No clue or hint.
