Page 66 of Roughing It

I shrug. “He said a lot more than that, but it doesn’t matter. I fucking quit.”

“Are you going to report him?” Mitch asks, his voice a little trembly now. I wonder why he’s so worried, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they’re in the process of holding back other complaints from other administrative assistants who have recently left.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I say, and then I pull my keys out of my purse and head for the parking garage. Miraculously, he doesn’t follow, and I figure a man like Mitch can afford to stew in his own worried juices while I figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.

* * *

It would be easy to go home. It would also probably be better if I did.

Instead, I swing by the shawarma place that Flor and I love. It’s tucked into a little strip mall by the university, with nothing but a little order window. It’s a hole-in-the-wall, but it has some of the best food I’ve ever had. My body is craving comfort right now, and the smell of it kind of makes me want to cry.

Hell, everything that’s happened over the last forty-eight hours has made me want to cry, which Ihate. It’s not the act of crying itself but the feeling of being out of control of my emotions. I realize that’s probably childhood trauma, but it’s easier to stick to my desire to be an emotionless robot than it is to give in to the feeling that everything’s breaking apart.

By the time I’m back in my car, I have a text from Flor saying both she and Sage are home. A tiny part of me resents that Flor’s married to this amazing man because I miss being able to have my best friend commiserate on how shitty men are, but I can’t really begrudge either of them.

When I pull up to their condo, I find a spot not far from their building entrance, and I walk up to the front door and try the knob. It’s open, which means Sage left it that way on purpose, and I lock it behind me before I head up to their bedroom. Their condo is small and cozy—full of Sage’s high-tech gadgets and Flor’s feminine touches.

I stop just outside the bedroom door, but it’s half-open, which means I’m not about to walk in on something I don’t want to see, and I knock lightly before heading in. Sage is lying on his stomach at the foot of the bed with his laptop open, and Flor is nestled in a cocoon of pillows, propped up against the headboard.

Sage smiles at me, and Flor leans forward and motions for me to come closer with her good arm. I drop the food because I know she wants a hug, and I’m careful when I pull her against me and squeeze tight.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again.

I pull back and roll my eyes. “Be sorry for inviting that dickhead along. Getting stuck there wasn’t so bad.”

She gives me a knowing look, and I realize it’s only a matter of minutes—maybe an hour if I’m lucky—before I spill my guts. For the moment, I kick off my shoes and crawl under the covers with her, and Sage attacks the food like a starving man, groaning at the massive pile of shawarma and saffron rice.

“I’m rethinking polyamory,” he says.

I shake my head. “You don’t need to marry me just because I bring delicious food.”

He looks at me with a torn bit of pita hanging from his teeth and speaks through the bite. “I think that’s polygamy. Anyway, how else am I supposed to show my appreciation?”

“I accept love, adoration, and wine,” I tell him with a grin. Everything still kind of sucks, but I feel immediately better with the two of them next to me.

Sage carefully lays everything out like a little picnic, and Flor goes on a long rant about the real estate reality TV show she’s been binging since she’s been laid up. I half listen as I eat, my stomach still in knots, so I only manage a few bites, and Flor immediately notices.

“Baby,” she says, “who hurt you?”

I wince. I don’t mean to—it just sort of happens, and then I hate myself even more because Sage immediately zeroes in on my genuine reaction. He scoots a little closer and lays a hand on my ankle over the covers.

“Look, I know where Monty plays squash—”

I wave him off quickly. “It wasn’t Monty. The guy was an asshole, but I definitely don’t give two shits what he thinks about me. He can call me whatever he wants.”

Sage’s eyes narrow and darken. “I’m going to take care of it.”

I know there’s no point in arguing with him, so I just shrug it off. I’m all prepared to let the conversation move on to other topics, but then Flor touches my arm, and I know it’s all over.

“What happened?” she asks quietly.

I take a breath and wish I was hungry enough to stuff my face so they’d have no idea, but the knot in my gut just gets bigger, and then—to my horror—my eyes start to get hot. I close them, and Maddox’s face immediately pops up in the dark. I can still feel the echo of his touch and the ghost of his whispers and the lingering heat when he’d made love to me.

“I think I found someone,” I tell her, speaking thickly through my raging emotions. “And I also think I lost him.”

It all spills out of me after that, like a broken dam. I only cry a little, which is a relief, but instead of feeling better, I just feel worse. By the time I’m finished telling them both every detail, apart from the ones where Maddox had me screaming his name into a pillow, Flor is holding me close on one side, Sage lying on his stomach, holding my legs.

“…and none of this is his fault,” I finally say. “We were both in the right place at the wrong time. It would be easier if I could hate him.”

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