Page 30 of Flame
“What does it matter?”
His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Please answer me.”
I want to bury my head in his chest and have him hold me tight against him. I want something from him that I can’t have—that I’ll never have.
Because he values Jason more than he wants me.
So what does it matter if I’m honest with him or not?It won’t change anything either way. And it’s not like he doesn’t know I want him, just like I know a part of him wants me, too.
Fuck it.
“I started running a few days after Calvin showed up,” I say, standing tall. “I needed a way to cope with my life that didn’t involve my family.”
He takes a half step closer to me.
“And, as you know, I have no friends who aren’t on my payroll,” I say.
Foxx’s eyes darken as he searches mine.
“And the one person I trusted, although he was on my payroll, left me because we almost kissed one night.”
The words barely escape my mouth. My throat burns, and my mouth is dry. I swallow hard to try to relieve some of the discomfort.
“Is that why you think I left, Bianca?”
My chest constricts, and a well of tears, which I didn’t know were in me, threatens to spill over my lids.What the hell?
I don’t cry. I especially don’t cry over men, and Iabsolutelydon’t do it in public.
And I damn well will not do it in front of Foxx Carmichael in the middle of his hometown grocery store.
“I have to get my prescription before I forget it,” I say, stepping around him. “Don’t forget the buns.”
“Bianca.”
I jet to the front of the store without looking back.
It won’t matter if I turn around.
But itwillmatter if Idon’tturn around because then, at least, I can maintain a little bit of dignity.
CHAPTER7
Bianca
“That was delicious, Foxx.”
He rests back in his chair across the table from me, tossing his napkin next to his empty plate. Moonlight streams through the window, casting moody shadows across his face. It’s fitting. The vibes this evening since our return from Miller’s have been moody, too.
Foxx started dinner while I sat in his office and made a few calls. They could’ve waited until tomorrow, but I thought we needed some space apart. The ride home was fine. To his credit, Foxx attempted idle chitchat. It’s the one thing I’ve found that he truly cannot do well. And, considering the plaques and awards hanging behind his office door, it seems as though it might be the only thing in the world he doesn’t do well. By the time I finished my calls with Gannon, Mom, and a quick check-in with Astrid, dinner was ready.
He lifts his wineglass, studying me like he has most of the meal. We managed to keep things superficial and polite. But I think the stress of walking around the elephant in the room is wearing on him as much as it is on me.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says.
A dollop of mustard is all that’s left of the cheeseburger and sweet potato fries. I want,need, to acknowledge that he cooked my favorite meal for dinner. It wasn’t accidental.But how do I do it without making him clam up and ruining the progress we’ve made?
How do I move us beyond this awkwardness?
