Page 57 of Rude Boss 2

“Essex, you can’t possibly feel this strongly for me. We haven’t known each other that long. I—”

I stop talking when he unbuttons his water-drenched shirt. Slowly, he peels it off, moves his arms out of the sleeves, and I’m admiring his bulky, muscly bare chest.

I gasp. Oxygen escapes me.

It’s not because this man is sculpted to perfection. I mean, he is, but there’s something else that catches my eyes. I don’t believe what I’m seeing. This can’t be.

I reach to touch the mark on his chest between his pectorals. I know it well. I instantly flash back to the first time I saw it – when my friend, Stewart, was playing basketball with some of the neighborhood boys.

My lips tremble. Tears come to my eyes. I snatch my hand away from his chest. In full tears, I say, “This can’t be.”

“Tess—”

“This can’t be,” I say, taking steps backward. I know what this means. I know what it all means now. I know why he’s been giving me extra attention. Why he calls meTessie. Why he kisses me like he’s in love with me and why he says he’s always loved me. It’s because he has. He’s Stewart. My Stewart.

Suddenly, I find it hard to breathe. Gasping for air, I place a hand on my chest. “How…how is this…possible?” I ask, tears flooding my face.

“I’m sorry, Quintessa. I wanted to tell you when I first saw you again, but I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how? What did—what did you? You—you changed your name? You—” I gasp… “Oh my God, I can’t breathe,” I say, stumbling toward the house to get my purse so I can get out of here.

“Tess, can we sit down and talk? I can explain everything to you.”

I shake my head. My clothes are drenched. My ability to breathe is questionable and I just learned that Essex DePaul, my rude boss, is actually an old friend of mine – a friend I loved before circumstances separated us. I’m beyond shocked. I don’t know what I am. This…I don’t even know ifthisis real. Is this really happening right now?”

I grab my purse and just as quickly, I’m back out the door.

“Tessie, please wait.”

“No.”

“Quintessa!”

With weary eyes, I stop, turn around and give him another once over. My hands are still shaking. Tears still flowing. Heart racing because it’s confused, broken and thoroughly deceived. This isn’t the man I remember, but I do remember his eyes now.

His eyes…

I should’ve remembered them, but how after so long? After he looks so different. There’s no birthmark on his face. He’s not overweight. He’s slim, athletic and fit. He has a beard. He’s confident – he’s not the same. But I feel like I should’ve remembered something. Certain aspects of his voice, maybe. His height. His hair. I know looks change after the high school and college era, but this isn’t an ordinary change. I don’t know what this is.

I can’t find words. I walk away from him, heading for the gate.

“Please, Tessie. Can we just talk?” he asks, stepping in front of me.

“For what, Essex—Stewart—I don’t even know what to call you now. What happened to you? What happened to your face?”

“If you would calm down—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. You have a lot of nerve! I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to sit down with you! I don’t even know who you are!”

I step around him.

He steps in front of me again and says, “You know who I am. If you would just—”

“I would like to leave,” I say, angrily brushing tears away from my face. I cross my arms over my chest and ask, “Are you going to allow me to leave, or will you force me to be somewhere I don’t want to be?”

He steps aside, allowing me to pass. Through blurred vision, I trek to my car, get inside and sit there, trying to stop myself from crying so I can see my way home. My hands are shaking so badly, I can’t put the key into the ignition, but I somehow manage to work it inside. The only thing I can do at this point is flee and try to make sense of this.

I don’t want to go home with all of this on my mind, but what choice do I have when my clothes are drenched? So, I swing by there, peel off this wet dress, bra and panties and put on a T-shirt and jean shorts. My hair is still damp, so I brush it up in a ponytail. Afterward, I go straight to my parent’s house. I sit in the car, trying to fix my face and hide all evidence of crying, but as soon as I step inside, mom says, “What’s wrong, Quin, and don’t tell me it’s nothing. It’s written all over your face. Come sit down here and get a plate of this food so we can talk about it.”

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