Chapter 6 #3
“I thought that was you,” Paisley confides.
“We didn't get the chance to talk much at Thanksgiving.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side, something shifting behind her brown gaze. “I was disappointed you didn’t come out for a drink with us on Sunday night…” She trails off, her eyes big and guileless as she stares at me.
“I’m going for a drink with Nick.” Braxton leans next to where I’m standing in the kitchen, his jaw unshaven and his eyes exhausted. I watch him with a furrowed brow.
“Is that a good idea? You look tired, and you’re on shift tomorrow.”
“It’s just Nick. I haven’t seen him much lately with our opposite shifts,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I’ll stay at my place tonight. I don’t want to wake you when I come in.”
I can’t tell if Paisley is intending to hurt me, but it’s a direct hit.
My breath catches in my chest, sticking painfully as her words confirm that Braxton lied to me—even if it was just by omission.
That night, I wondered why he didn’t invite me.
I figured he wanted some guy time with Nick, and now…
I lower my lashes, refusing to give Paisley a single hint of my pain. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I was tired. The shop has been really busy lately.”
She hums. “I love that you do that. Working in a little flower shop. So cute. I have a degree in communications, which is very different.” She lets out a breezy laugh, acting like her words aren’t coated with sharp edges.
“It basically means I talk too much in meetings, and I can write a damn good email.”
My mouth tightens in the corners. This girl doesn’t know me or what I have been through. She doesn’t get to stand over me, diminishing who I am or my little flower shop.
“Is that why you moved home?” I ask. “You graduated a couple of months ago, right?”
Paisley’s eyes shift to the side. “I’m taking some time off after spending so long getting my degree.”
“Of course,” I say evenly. “I wouldn’t know, but I can imagine how much work it took.”
Something flickers across her face, but then her name is called out from across the room.
She glances in that direction before giving me another lingering look.
“I’m meeting some friends from school. You know how it is when you grow up in the same place.
Everyone knows everyone. It was great seeing you.
” She gives me one last smile, spinning on her heel and sashaying away, her long hair trailing down her back.
My stomach churns as I watch her, barely noticing when Bridget sets two beers down, sliding back into her seat. “Don’t tell me that was her?”
“Yep,” I say blandly. “She came to tell me that she was disappointed I wasn’t there last Sunday.” I look back at her. “At the bar. Where he told me he was meeting Nick. Just Nick.”
“Oh, that manipulative little…” Her glare is dark, but wasted on Paisley. Her back is to us as she sits down at a table with two other people.
“Is she, though?” I wonder.
Bridget turns that look on me. “You know she did it on purpose. She told you, hoping that he hadn’t, to put doubts in your head.”
“I know.” I drag my beer closer, fingers clutched around the cold glass, using the cool sensation to ground myself. “But it wouldn’t have happened if Braxton hadn’t given her that power.”
An hour later, we’ve eaten our fill of nachos, and I’ve downed enough drinks that I’m not even tempted to look at Paisley’s table. I’ve also drunk enough that I’m getting really good at lying to myself.
Bridget squints, pointing at where my phone is lying on the table. “It’s buzzing,” she slurs right as she knocks an empty glass over. “Oops!”
I snicker, my eyes flicking to the phone screen and then back to her, all amusement sliding away. “It’s him! Should I answer? What should I say?”
Bridget laughs. “You could start with hello.”
I roll my eyes, making my head spin. I slap both hands on the table to steady myself, knocking into my phone and sending it skidding off the table.
“Shit.” I scoop it off the floor, no longer vibrating. “It’s fine. I think.” Braxton starts calling again, and my stomach swoops nauseatingly. “I’m not having it out with him while I’m drunk,” I announce stubbornly.
Bridget hums. “Okay.” I peek up at her, and she simply asks, “Why?”
“He’ll talk me round,” I admit. “I know myself, and I know him…Well, I thought I did. And this isn’t something he should be able to brush under the carpet. I need to be clear-headed and coherent and logical—”
“Pretty sure they all mean the same thing.”
“—and he needs to listen and really get how I feel. No matter what else, that conversation on Thanksgiving was fucking inappropriate, and then the drinks…”
Bridget nods sagely. “I back you.” She eyes me seriously.
“Should we jump him? Beat the truth out of him?” I press my lips together, the temptation a little too strong—and I am not a violent person.
“If you want it to be a little more impersonal, we could run him over with my car.” Bridget flutters her eyelashes innocently. “And then reverse a little.”
A snort escapes. “Should we be contemplating this kind of…action in such a public place?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Probably not, but whoever monitors my phone has heard a lot worse.”
“Who would want to moni—” I flap a hand around my head. “You know what? I don’t wanna know.”
Bridget points at me. “The phone is ringing again. Considering his absence this week, he’s being a bit clingy tonight, isn’t he?”
I scowl down at the device still clutched in my hand. “Probably because I haven’t been at his beck and call. It’s alright to ignore me, but when I ignore him, he acts like the world is ending.”
Anger surges through my bloodstream. Without thinking about it, I jab my thumb down on the screen to connect the call, snapping, “What?” as I put it to my ear.
“Gracie?” Braxton blurts. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Why? What do you mean, why?” he demands.
“I went past the florist and your apartment, and had no idea where you were. I’ve been going out of my mind!
I thought you’d been in a car crash or something.
” He’s breathing heavily down the line, and there’s a pang of sympathy for him down in my little toe, but it’s not enough to douse my anger and hurt.
“I’m out with Bridget,” I tell him stiffly. “I wasn’t aware we had plans.”
There’s a pause. “It’s Saturday night.” Braxton’s voice is full of confusion. “You know I finished my shift this morning.”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be picking up more shifts for Ben,” I say reasonably. “And I didn’t hear from you, so when Bridget asked me for drinks, I said yes.”
“Didn’t hear from me…Gracie, I’ve been calling you for hours!” His panic recedes, replaced with anger.
“Well, it would’ve been rude for me to take personal calls at work,” I say sweetly, not giving him an inch.
There’s a beat. “Where are you, Gracie?”
Braxton sounds drained, and I don’t have it in me to hold on to the anger. Not when my head is spinning, and exhaustion flows through me. I feel like I’ve been balancing on the edge of a cliff for over a week, and now I’m just…done.
“Benson’s.”
“I’m coming to get you.”
“I’m with Bridget—”
“I’ll give her a ride too.” There’s a click, and the line goes dead.
I slowly lower the phone, blowing out a breath. Bridget’s watching me with interest, and I meet her stare, asking, “What?”
“You said you weren’t gonna talk to him drunk, so don’t.” She sounds pretty reasonable for someone who’s had the same amount of alcohol as I have. “Wait until tomorrow, when you’re sober. Don’t approach this in anger.”
My chin drops to my chest. “I don’t wanna approach it at all.”
There’s no time for any other kind of plan because Braxton’s there ten minutes later, his jaw tight as he steps through the door.
He searches the room, his shoulders visibly loosening when he finds me, and he doesn’t look away as he approaches.
Before he can say a word, Paisley is suddenly there, grabbing his arm.
“Braxton!”
He jerks in surprise. “Paisley? What’re you doing here?” He flicks a look at me, and I can almost see the puzzle pieces slowly slotting into place behind his eyes. I smile, pretending absolutely nothing is amiss.
Bridget plants both her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her fist, looking like she’s watching a reality show play out in front of her.
“My friends changed their minds about catching up, so here I am,” she says, leaning heavily against him.
She stares up at him with a wobbly smile, and Bridget and I share a disbelieving look.
“I’m actually glad you’re here,” Paisley continues, not even sparing us a glance.
“I need a ride home. I had a bit more—”she hiccups delicately behind her hand—“to drink than I planned.”
“Okay,” Braxton says slowly. “Let me call Nick.”
Paisley blinks. “Oh, you can take me, can’t you? I’m sure Gracie won’t mind.” She turns to look at me, a subtle challenge hiding in her brown eyes.
“No,” Braxton says shortly. “I’m taking Bridget home as well.
It makes more sense that Nick comes to get you.
” Not waiting for her to argue, he untangles himself from her hold and pulls his phone out.
Frustration flashes across Paisley’s face, but when she remembers we’re watching, she gives one last smile and saunters back to her table.
“One of them is drinking soda,” Bridget whispers, tipping her head after Paisley. I turn and look over my shoulder, noticing the guy Bridget’s talking about. “I haven’t seen him drink anything else all night.”
“Paisley’s playing games,” I agree. “I don’t understand why. She left four years ago, and according to both of them, they never spoke while she was gone. What’s her game right now?”
“Girls like her do it just because they can,” Bridget mutters darkly. “But how sure are you that they never spoke? It’s pretty ballsy of her to go after him the minute she gets back to town.”