Page 12 of Branded
I shoved my keys into my pocket, shrugged into my jacket.
Took a breath, the atmosphere of the locker room continuing on without me, and then I left. They’d probably wonder why I bailed on food when I—as a six-foot-plus, two-hundred-twenty-pound behemoth never bailed on food.
But, hell, I already spent a lot of time feeling like an asshole.
A big, goofy, giant asshole.
Today, I’d earned those inner thoughts.
Knocking Kailey to the ground, and she despised me so much that I couldn’t even help her up, steady her, touch her. And right, she didn’t owe me anything, didn’t have to allow me to do anything for her.
But…I wanted her to.
I’d felt the pieces inside me shift when I’d first seen her, as though all the cells in my body had realigned, focused completely on her, and in my typical way, I’d assumed that I’d just need to spend some time with her, that I’d be able to win her over, and then we’d have the happily ever after that Luc and Oliver and Marcel had.
Meet woman.
Woman falls for me.
Happy ending.
Done.
Easy.
Except, I thought as I moved into the hallway, this time being careful to watch out for tiny green-eyed, brown-haired beauties, not easy.
“Yo, Smitty!”
I glanced up from the carpet—yeah, I’d been staring at it like Kailey might reappear and give me a second chance to help her up—and saw Oliver coming down the hall.
“I’m not taking care of your plant,” I said, fist-bumping Oliver’s outstretched hand. “I don’t care how busy you are now that you’re married with a kid on the way.”
“I’d never ask that,” Oliver replied dryly. “I went to the plant funeral last season, remember?”
Ah. Yes. Our annual tradition to play dirges and take the long, solemn walk to the compost bin, followed by the long, solemn walk back, avoiding Lexi’s disapproving gaze.
“Hey! It’s not my fault that there was a freak snowstorm and?—”
“You left an indoor plant outside so poor little Sally froze to death?”
Yes, I’d named my plant Sally. Yes, I’d murdered poor little Sally by leaving her out in the elements for two days—cough—weeks. But how was I supposed to know that she couldn’t survive a little cold and snow? For fuck’s sake, she was supposed to be a Maryland native and?—
“Or that Hazel told me your petunia this season was already looking droopy?”
Fuck.
How did she know?
Oh…right, she’d come over to my house with some papers she wanted me to fill out the night before. Personality test nonsense and some things for me to read.
Homework to get me mentally prepared for the season.
Yay.
I loved homework.
And yes, that was me being not-so-subtle, as usual.
