5 Cate #2
“We didn’t know each other the first time around. We talked, what? A handful of times and—”
“Kissed.” I hate that his eyes seemed to have softened, reminding me not to jump to conclusions.
Although his voice comforts like hot chocolate on a winter’s night, he doesn’t hide what’s on his mind.
“I might not remember seeing you at a party, but I remember that kiss.” Releasing me, he runs his hand over his head, then wraps his palm around the back of his neck.
“My apologies, Cat. I misread the situation. I assumed you called me to hook up, but there’s no rush to do anything. ”
Taking my bag from him, I set it down beside me. I’d rather have it on the sidewalk than in this man’s possession. “There actually is.”
He shifts, confusion narrowing his eyes. “Help me out here,” he says, “I’m getting whiplash.” Keeping his eyes on me, he drops his chin. “You do want to fuck?”
“Stop saying that. Good God, you’re worse than Maggie.
There’s no fucking involved.” I wish I hadn’t swung my hands low in front of me to highlight that region of my body.
The point could have been made without me redirecting his eyes below my waist. My face flares, and the burn in my cheeks causes me to sweat under the collar.
I tug the bow loose and undo the top button of my blouse to cool down, but my mind travels at warp speed, causing chaos to my typically responsible self.
“Like, none, it’s been so long that we don’t need to keep going on about the sex I’m not having. ”
Please Lord, take me now. I’m done here on earth. Toast.
“I don’t know what you want, Cat.”
“Cate.”
“Cate,” he says so quickly that it’s hard to determine whether it’s a jab or an innocent correction. Hmm. “What do you want? Just say it.”
“I want a divorce.” Throwing my arms wide, I say, “I figured you didn’t want to stay in this marriage either.”
So many emotions roll through his features that I’m unsure which will win out. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Annoyance takes the gold. Though anger might be trying to squeak in for a second-place finish.
“You know what?” I plant my hands on my hips, my good mood now soured by him. “I didn’t cause this mess, so I don’t appreciate your tone.”
“My tone?” He laughs, but it’s filled with a lack of patience instead of humor. Looking around, he asks, “Is this a prank?”
“A prank?” Now, he has me paranoid. “Is this a prank?” I poke him hard in the chest again, accomplishing two things.
He’s real. And he’s hard. So hard my finger hurts.
A prank makes so much more sense.
I don’t spot any cameras when I scan the parking lot and beyond, but technology is so good these days. Dropping my head back, I exhale, closing my eyes and soaking in the relief this brings me. When I lift back up, I cover my heart. “Thank God I didn’t lose the house.”
Good, now I can drop my guard and enjoy the reunion instead of dealing with this difficult situation.
It feels so good to laugh. Resting my hand on his chest, I use him for support as the tension fades away like a cloud on a breezy day.
“This week has been pure hell. I’m going to need a margarita after this.
” Looking around once more, I try to see if I spy Ross hanging around the bushes. I don’t see him. Or anyone . . .
Maybe it’s the silence or the way Shane’s staring at me like I have two heads, but my gut tells me something isn’t quite right. I lower my hand, but Shane takes a step back.
Anxiety returns, and I look at him to make it go away. “This was all a prank, right? Me losing the house. The marriage. You showing up here instead of calling. Feel free to hop in at any time.”
That’s when he takes another step backward. “The marriage?” The sensual roll of his dulcet tone clips at the ending. “I’m not marrying you. No offense.”
I throw my hands up in surrender, and a shaky laugh escapes me. “None taken. This wasn’t ideal for me either. No offense back at ya. I’m just glad this was a joke.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m not in on any joke and didn’t set out to prank you.” He’s backing away with every word coming from his mouth. With a shake of his head, disappointment fills his irises. “I thought you were different, but this crosses a line I’ve never seen before.”
“What line have I crossed?” I walk behind him, baffled as to why he’s making me feel foolish when I thought we were on the same page.
His pace picks up, and he doesn’t bother to look back. “Married, Cat, really?”
“So it’s not a prank,” I whisper as reality dawns, burying me back in the nightmare I’ve been dealing with all week. “I’m really losing the house?”
There’s no reply, but I can’t let him get away. “We only have forty-eight hours, Shane.”
Turning back, he looks at me from the end of the sidewalk. “For what?”
“To get to the county clerk’s regarding the marriage license.”
“Marriage?” he says. “Carriage. Fuck me. Fucking messages.”
I move closer but don’t want to alarm him anymore since he appears in dire peril. “I need you to go with me.”
“No, Cat, Cate, whoever you are. I’m out of here.”
“No, you can’t. Don’t leave me.”
With his hands in front of him, he isn’t surrendering. He’s preparing. Why? “I can. Watch me.” He turns his back and cuts through parked cars, but I see how he looks back as if I’m stalking him . . . Hit all at once with reality, I gasp, covering my mouth in disbelief. He doesn’t know.
“You don’t know,” I voice barely above a whisper as if he can hear me.
The messages messed up by the new hire.
Me talking about marriage licenses.
Him rushing to his car like I’m about to attack him.
“Shane? Wait!” I run after him. “I’m not a stalker. I promise.”
“Sure you aren’t.” Turning around in the middle of the lot, he scoffs. “That’s what they all say, sweetheart. It’s been . . . interesting.”
“We need to talk.”
“See you at the reunion, then.” He has the decency not to run while I’m left ticking through the math of when the last reunion was held and counting the years until the next.
I panic. “The reunion isn’t for another eight years?”
Nodding, he calls back, “I know.”
“The messages were messed up.” Cupping my hand to the side of my mouth, I shout, “I can explain the misunderstanding—”
“I got your messages. That’s why I’m here. But I’m receiving this one louder and clearer. I’m out of here.” He reaches his car, glances back, then ducks inside his vehicle. I hear the locks latch in place.
The heaviness of the disappointment and embarrassment I feel weighs on me, but I still make an effort to try again. “I only have forty-eight hours left to close this deal. I need you, Shane.”
But I already know it’s too late. He’s reversed and ready to take off.
“Shane? I can explain,” I say, running up to a rolled-up window.
And then I realize this is my last chance.
I run in front of his car, reminding myself that a responsible adult wouldn’t do that.
It’s not safe, but it’s my only shot at getting through to him. “There’s been a massive mistake.”
Cracking his window, he commands, “Move out of the way.”
“No, you don’t understand. I tried to warn you in the messages.” I dare to put my hands on the hood of his—Oh my God, is this a Ferrari? Matte black with the emblem between my hands confirms that, yes, it is indeed a Ferrari, and as stunning as he is.
A horn blaring startles the crap out of me, and I jump to the side, my natural instincts kicking in.
He pulls around me, but the window is still sealed shut.
Throwing my arms wide, I yell, “We’re already married.
” But then I realize that will only make him drive away faster.
I’m about to shout something else, but there’s nothing I can say that won’t make me sound like the stalker he already thinks I am.
I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t believe me either. Nothing about this situation makes any sense to a logical person.
Defeat sinks in, and my shoulders fall, watching him pull onto the main road. I tried . . . Insult to injury, the car’s horsepower kicks into gear like he can’t get away fast enough.
Now what? Hire a divorce attorney I can’t afford to draw up the papers and hope they get filed before he obtains a restraining order?
The emotional toll of the past fifteen minutes have made every minute feel like a year of hard labor. I walk back to my car, more confused than ever about what I should do.
The first will be adding this encounter to the list of most mortifying things I’ve ever done. It definitely earns the top spot.
I load my bag into the back seat, then yank open the driver’s door, ready to take a long bath and pray I can forget this ever happened. Tomorrow is another day to untangle this web.
Just before I sink in, I hear, “Why did you say we’re married?”