Page 21 of Branded
“Fuck,” I muttered, shoving a pod into the coffee maker and grabbing a mug so I could brew myself a much-needed cup. I needed to take advantage of the empty and get my broodiness out, get back to myself, stop caring that Kailey didn’t like me, accept that she wasn’t going to like me, so the guys didn’t know that I was all twisted up inside.
Because despite all the talk, I couldn’t do acceptance about Kailey.
I just…didn’t have it in me.
But, okay, here was the deal. I knew I was going to accept that she wasn’t going to like me romantically. I wasn’t that much of an asshole to expect a woman to fall for me just because I was bordering on obsessed.
In a perfect world? Yes.
In a world where I was him—a big brute who was only good at hitting things with my fists or stick or puck and, okay, I was also good at finding hole-in-the-wall restaurants—but I was fully aware that I wasn’t a catch like pretty Marcel or supremely talented like Raph and Oliver were. I did okay. I ground it out, got shit done, knew I had an important role in the locker room.
But I wasn’t going to be gracing billboards or be in the All-Star game.
I hit shit and made people laugh, and I did both of those things well.
So, her not falling madly in love with me, that I could deal with.
But I wasn’t going to stop until she liked me as a friend.
I was a good friend. I could be that for her, and even if it wasn’t all I wanted it to be, it would be enough for me.
“Good plan, Smitty,” I muttered, scooping the cup off the Keurig and feeling a million times better as I snooped in the pastry box, loaded up on apple turnovers, and then went to one of the recliners. Since I was in the room first, I had full control of the remote, and I clicked on the TV, immediately shuddering when I saw it was paused on some weird-ass documentary about Australian animals, a wombat waddling across the screen.
The marsupials creeped me the fuck out, and I knew it was either Theo studying up on something, or one of the guys trying to mess with me.
Either way, I was messed with.
Whoever thought they were cute little critters had clearly lost their minds.
First, they had a pouch.
Second, they had scary-ass claws.
Third, they had beady black eyes.
Fourth…none of this was getting me any closer to completing my personality test.
“Fuck.”
A sigh.
A glug of coffee.
“Okay, dumbass”—a breath—“just get this done.”
Eight
Kailey
I was walking down the hall, heading for my office, when I heard it.
Muttering.
Angry muttering.
Considering I was party to my own muttering—and it wasn’t a little amount, especially when I was trying to troubleshoot a project—I’d been prepared to walk by.
Silently.
