Page 51 of Three Bossy Boyfriends
Are you home?
Yes. Where are you? I texted you earlier.
I had been sitting in a pub, nursing a drink and debating various plans to get Evan his job back, ranging from simply stupid to illegal. I’d seen his text, but I didn’t know how to respond.
He’d said, “Make sure Finley is okay.”
That had been a jolt. He was worried about Finley, more so than himself.
Hell, more so than me.
Finley was right. I’m jealous of what they’ve shared.
That’s why I was so reckless at the office. I want Evan. Not that I need or want to have him exclusively or that I want to cut Finley out of the equation. I don’t. It’s hot to know they share sexual chemistry and a friendship. They’re the same age. I’m…not.
Finley makes Evan happy, and that makes me happy.
That doesn’t mean that I’m not envious of the fact that she’s gotten to touch him, feel him inside her, had their eyes locked while they pleasured each other.
I’ve been waiting so long to indulge in fucking Evan that the tension brewing beneath the surface has nowhere to go. I’m damn near crawling out of my skin, and I let myself get carried away today with dire fucking consequences.
I’m angry with Mary Grace, but I’m also angry with myself.
I know better.
I text Evan back.
I’m outside your building. Are you alone?
You’re outside? Do you want me to come down, or are you coming up?
What I need to say, what I need todo, can’t be done on the sidewalk.
I’m coming up. Is Finley with you?
No, she went straight home from the office.
I don’t object to seeing Finley right now. I actually want to make sure she’s okay.
After Mary Grace ran off to tell Charles she’d caught me kissing Evan, I’d stayed in my office for a while. Everything in me was screaming to go into the paralegal work area, but I knew everyone would be gossiping and that all eyes would be on me. It would put Finley in a worse position to talk to her than not, because everyone in the office would assume she would be hurt by finding out her boyfriend was kissing another man right under her nose.
Now wasn’t the time to be confessing we were all in on the whole setup together.
I can handle being the office asshole. It doesn’t bother me.
But I feel terrible that Finley is being seen as a victim. And that Evan is some kind of villain in all of this.
It’s freezing outside. Evan lives in a building that used to be a warehouse and now houses trendy apartments. Inside the foyer, I scroll through the screen impatiently until I get to Y for Young. I tap his name. A second later, the interior door buzzes and clicks open.
I’ve never been to Evan’s apartment. His apartment is on the second floor, so I take the stairs, needing the jog to work off some of my frustration. It suddenly feels like we’ve wasted anentire year. Like rules and jobs and people’s opinions shouldn’t have mattered.
I know that isn’t true, and that Evan had a hell of a lot more to lose than me, but now that he’s already lost it, it all feels just like time we could have been together, seeing where this relationship can go.
Time spent getting to know every little detail about each other’s lives, meeting each other’s families, taking a vacation. Cooking intimate dinners together, watching hockey with popcorn or ice cream—I don’t even know which he prefers—and strolling along the beach at sunset.
I should know what his apartment looks like. What his favorite mug to drink coffee from is or if he has a set of six white ceramic mugs that mean nothing to him except a vessel to drink from. I should know if his couch is comfortable or jabs me in the back when we lay together on it.
Fucking. We could have been fucking. This entire year.
