Chapter 2 #2
From the way her fingers fumbled over her keyboard before stilling, I knew she was aware I was there. But I still waited until she deleted the misspelled word before leaning close to whisper, “Let’s go get a drink.”
The earbuds were only a decoy to get people to leave her alone, so I knew she heard me. But she just stared at her screen before releasing a strained breath and resuming her typing.
“Come on, Monroe,” I tried again. “Let’s get a drink and talk.”
“Leave.”
The first word she’d said to me in three months that hadn’t been work-related, and it was leave.
My hand lifted for my chest, but I forced it back down before I could rub at the fierce ache there. And like a coward, I did exactly that.
Pushing off her desk, I blindly tossed my tablet onto my own as I headed through the office, past where Chloe was reading behind the large front desk, and out the door.
As soon as I was in my truck, I slammed my fist against the steering wheel and released all my frustration and pain and helplessness in a guttural roar.
Dropping my head back against the headrest, I closed my eyes and forced harsh, heavy breaths until they came more easily and the tightness in my chest didn’t feel as constricting.
Opening my eyes, I stared at the ceiling in my truck for long moments before my hand started moving on impulse—opening the center console and digging around the bottom until I had the gold band clenched in my fist.
When Mallory had blindly thrown clothes at me that day, the feel of the ring hitting my palm had stopped everything. Time. My heart. My thoughts. And then it had all come rushing forward again as that gold band suddenly made it all real.
When I’d found the second, I hadn’t been able to do much of anything other than stare at them for so long before I’d hesitantly slipped one on.
I would’ve thought the moment a ring went onto that finger would’ve felt like something more, something significant.
But it’d just felt like I was pretending, or in some weird dream.
Maybe because the ring hadn’t fit me at all—it’d been loose on me.
Which, considering the rings had been identical in size and look, explained why one had been on the desk, and the other had fallen off in bed.
I was sure I should’ve left it with Mallory, along with the marriage certificate and other ring, but I hadn’t been able to part with the one in my hand now.
Maybe because I’d known Mallory would do everything to erase any evidence of our elopement, and I’d wanted something to know it’d been real, if even for a day. Even if we didn’t remember the how.
Because marrying that girl had been a dream since the day I’d met her. Not that I’d ever once thought there was a chance I’d get to, and not that I’d wanted to marry her that way.
But we had, and it was still destroying us, three months later.
Dropping the ring back into the center console, I slammed the top shut and started my truck before tearing out of our parking lot.
Bypassing the coffee shop closest to us, I drove to Mallory’s favorite place to get an iced coffee for me and an iced matcha latte for her. The thing smelled like grass, but what mattered was she loved it.
“No dimples for me today?”
I stilled at the loud question, then slowly looked over to find the barista glancing between me and the drinks she was making, a coy look on her face that was clearly feigned. “Ma’am?”
The corner of her lips tipped up higher. “You usually flash those dimples my way between asking me ridiculous questions. I’m wondering why I don’t get them today.”
A hushed laugh crept up my throat, but that was it. I had nothing else for her. Not when I couldn’t stop hearing Briggs and Rush’s words in my head.
“You’re not exactly known for staying interested in a girl for long.”
“You’re not known for staying interested in a girl once another crosses your path.”
Before a few seconds ago, I would’ve sworn I’d never attempted anything with the girl in front of me because I’d only ever come in here with Mallory before today.
Maybe I didn’t know my personality.
Maybe I didn’t know how I came across.
“Uh . . .” My head slanted as another uneasy laugh left me. “Yeah, not today.”
She playfully pouted as she placed lids on both cups. “Bad morning?”
Bad three months.
I nodded toward her and pointedly said, “Thanks for the drinks.”
Her lips turned down even more as she murmured, “Ooo. That’s a yes.” Sliding the drinks toward me, she winked. “See you next time, handsome.”
Something like guilt gnawed at me as I numbly walked to my truck and drove back to the office. All the while, I wondered what I might do—what I might say—even when I wasn’t attempting to charm women.
I set the iced matcha on Mallory’s desk without a word, then headed over to my desk. Determined to focus on work between figuring out how to break through this unfamiliar Mallory.
But before I even had my computer turned on, she roughly slammed her drink onto my desk, making some of the creamy, green liquid slosh out of the wide-mouthed lid.
“What—” I began, but the demand died on my tongue when she purposefully twisted the cup for me to see.
There, in black marker, was a phone number and a heart.
My stomach dropped, but I just sat there, staring at the writing as a dozen excuses choked me.
But it didn’t matter that I hadn’t done anything to get the number. It didn’t matter that I had a feeling the barista had intentionally written it on Mallory’s cup to stir up trouble, since that had been my first time in the shop without her. Because, what could I say?
If women thought I was flirting with them even when I thought my full attention was on Mallory, then I’d brought this on myself. And trying to explain away a phone number would only raise questions with the rest of the guys—questions neither of us were ready for.
So, I just sat there as Mallory angrily dropped back into her seat before pushing out of my chair and heading for the break room. As soon as I had a clean glass and paper towel in hand, my movements stilled as the past minutes replayed in my mind.
In everything she’d done, from slamming the cup on my desk to storming back to her desk, Mallory had been angry. Not Solemn. Not indifferent.
She’d been the Mallory Monroe I’d first met and the rest of the world knew.
The corner of my mouth ticked up as hope flickered in my chest. I could work with an angry Mallory.
After all, it was kind of my favorite version of her.
Stealing through the office again, I transferred the contents of the grassy-smelling drink from one cup to the other, then set the glass on her desk as I leaned close to whisper, “Between all these silences and business-only talks, I can’t figure out if you’re set on punishing me or trying to tell me you love me.
” Dipping my head closer, I twisted my words into a taunting tone I knew got under her skin. “Either way, try harder.”
I didn’t give her a chance to respond.
I just fought a smile when I felt a very distinct, Mallory-like wall of indignation slam into me as I returned to my desk. Cleaning up the mess from her drink, I tossed everything into the trash—never once giving the number on the cup a second thought.