9. Graham #2
A crinkle forms in the middle of her forehead. “Are you serious? We’re two totally different people. Besides the fact that you’re ‘Golden Graham, the ladies man,’ it’s well known that we only tolerate each other.”
While she hit the nail on the head about barely tolerating each other, the use of the tabloids’ moniker just reminds me I’ll never live down what happened after Bethany.
Everyone will always think of me as a man who had a different girl in his bed every week while his ex-fiancée cried every moment she had a camera on her.
I guess it’s my fault. I could’ve set the record straight at any point, but I didn’t.
I let her tarnish my good name, all out of some misguided remorse for being ambitious and wanting a better life for us.
“I wouldn’t have to harass you on a daily basis if you’d make time to sit down for your yearly review.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she replies. “But what do we need to go over that couldn’t wait until the drive up?”
She flips open the file, her finger skimming down the paper.
I notice her nails are a French manicure instead of the vibrant colors she normally wears, but I don’t say anything.
Pointing out how much she feels she needs to change to fit into her family isn’t my priority right now, nor will it go over well with her.
No matter how much I disdain the fact she thinks anything is wrong with her.
“There’s nothing about your mom,” Rosay says, drawing my attention as she grabs two plates.
The mention of my mom twists a knot in my stomach.
I’m sure she’s out there, keeping track of all my accomplishments and waiting for another moment to try and sneak back into my life.
Between her and Bethany, I’ve learned that I need to protect the things I’ve worked hard for.
The sum of who I am as a person will always be boiled down to the amount in my bank account, and no one truly wants me for me.
Is there a part of me that wishes this thing with Rosay wasn’t a ruse?
That there was someone out there who would want to get to know me past what comfort I can offer them?
Absolutely. But Rosay dislikes me and is only doing this because she needs me.
At least this time I know I’m being used, and I’m actually getting something out of it.
“Not much to tell. She and my dad split up when I was young.” Abandoned is the correct word, but that would bring up too many questions I’m not ready to answer. “It’s just been me and dad for as long as I can remember.”
There’s a moment where I can tell she wants to ask more, to delve deeper into my past, but instead she nods and moves her finger to the next question.
“Not sure why I need to know where you buy your groceries,” she mumbles then guffaws. “You have your groceries delivered from Target ?”
I tilt my head, confused by her astonishment. “What’s wrong with having my groceries delivered?”
“From Target,” is all she says.
“Okay?”
“The audacity,” she scoffs, shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Dear lord, Rosay. What?”
“H-E-B, is what. How can you turn your back on the nation’s best grocery store and expect my family to accept you?”
I snort a laugh, but the serious crevasse in her brow tells me she’s not joking. My hands automatically rise as if I’m staring down a firing squad.
“Okay, okay. No more shopping at Target.”
“Have you ever been to an H-E-B before?” she asks then presses her finger across my lips. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t think I can handle hearing your response. There’s no way someone could walk into the glory that is H-E-B and still choose to order groceries from Target.”
I grasp my jaw, trying to hold in a chuckle as she plates the eggs and bacon. “I highly doubt my grocery shopping habits will be called into question.”
She ignores me and grabs a drink from the fridge. “Next you’re going to tell me you prefer In-N-Out to Whataburger.”
Unable to stop from messing with her, I divert my attention out the window.
“Get out,” she says, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Right now. Take the folder and the coffee and get out of my house.”
I burst out laughing as she slams the folder shut, pushes it my way, and tries to leave the kitchen. I don’t know what comes over me, but I’m up from my chair within seconds, pulling her back between my legs.
“Don’t insult me,” I say to the shell of her ear, delighting in the slight hitch of her breath and how perfect she fits between my legs. “A number one with cheese, lettuce, tomato, grilled jalapenos, and creamy pepper is my weekly cheat meal.”
She looks over her shoulder, glaring at me a moment before she gets up and returns to the kitchen.
Her back is to me while she rearranges a fruit bowl, and I wonder if she’s also trying to get a grasp on why our bodies seem to fit perfectly together when our brains want to be as far from each other as possible.
“Don’t joke like that in front of my family, or you’ll find yourself with a one-way ticket back to San Antonio and on the blacklist forever. We don’t play about our grocery stores or Whataburger.”
“Is this a good time to tell you I’ve never been to Buc-ees?” She throws an orange at me, but I catch it and grin at her. “I’m kidding.”
“Gosh, you’re an asshole.” She leans against the counter, propping her arms under her breasts and pouting.
What I wouldn’t give to feel those lips wrapped around…oh, hell. Nope. Wipe those thoughts from your brain right now, Graham.
Maybe if you kiss her now before you have to do it in front of everyone, it’ll lessen the effect she has on you.
I blink rapidly, trying to restart whatever circuit in my brain that has disconnected from real life.
“It’ll do you well to remember that.” I flip open the folder and force myself into a better headspace. “Now, let’s talk about our break up.”
“Trying to get rid of me already?” she asks, though I can tell there’s a hint of hurt behind her words.
“Trying to prepare you for when you tell your family,” I reply as she grabs the orange from me. “I’m used to being the bad guy, but I’d like to not have my name tarnished again for something that isn’t real.”
She frowns but doesn’t say anything, so I launch into a spiel about how we were working opposite shifts, both inundated with new clients and expectations, and we drifted apart. We decided we wanted to focus on our careers and stay friends.
It’s a variation of exactly what Bethany told me when I found her cheating, except it went a lot more like, “You work all day or you’re with your dad, and then don’t want to go out to the club with me.
I can’t find clients in this small as fuck town.
I need to make a name for myself and all everyone cares about is you. ”
Rosay peels the orange she threw at me and tosses the scraps into a pot with more force than necessary. Her lips are pinched as she focuses on the stove and says, “That should work.”