My stomach grumbled, but I couldn’t eat. Even Stuntman Mike was worked up. He kept crying and looking at the driveway, following me around my workstation like he’d witnessed her kidnapping and was pissed I hadn’t done anything to stop it. Finally I just put him in his satchel and carried him around with me.
6:00.
7:00.
8:00.
There was only so late I could stay before it became obvious I’d been waiting for her. I’d never worked past 9:00 p.m. before. But if I left and just went home, I’d never know when she came back, or how she came back. Happy? Sad? Tomorrow, wearing the same clothes?
And what if he didn’t just drop her off? What if he came back to stay the night? I bet the fucker would love to rub that shit in my face. He’d probably do a goddamn victory lap.
Every car that drove by made my heart pound and head jerk up.
Maybe I should leave. I didn’t know if I could handle seeing them as a couple. I told myself if she wasn’t back by 9:00, I would go. Because the later it got, the more likely it was they were staying the night together—here or elsewhere. And either way it was better if I didn’t know about it.
Finally, at 8:17, a maroon Nissan pulled into the driveway.
She came back in an Uber.
Alone.
My relief was a thousand-pound weight off my chest. I could finally breathe again.
Three hours. They could have just been in a restaurant. The drive there, the drive back—that easily could have been one hour of the three. She didn’t stay the night with him. And after everything, she only gave him a few hours and didn’t let him come back with her? Maybe this was a good sign.
I took off the satchel—I’d rather die than let her see me use her dog purse—and made it look like I was busy laying carpet on the already finished steps and not sitting in the garage waiting for her to come home like a lovesick puppy dog.
She got out of the car and came in through the garage, holding her sweater in her hand, dragging the sleeve along the driveway. Stuntman Mike ran to meet her, bouncing and crying at her feet, but she didn’t reach down to pick him up.
“Hey,” I said casually as she approached. “I’m just finishing up here.”
She stopped in front of me and studied me wordlessly. I tried to figure out what happened from the way she looked.
She hadn’t gotten dressed up to go out with him. That was good. But her lipstick was gone. Was that because they ate? Or because they’d been kissing? Had they fought the whole time? Is that why her shoulders were slumped? Her eyes were red. A little mascara smeared, like she’d been crying.
“Josh? Do you want to go sing karaoke with me?”
I blinked at her. “Karaoke?”
She sniffed, looking at me tiredly. “I feel a spree coming on. It’s either a cleaning spree or a singing spree. Singing might be healthier.”
I grinned at her. “Yeah. Sounds like fun.”
She smiled weakly at me. “Okay. And you have to feed me. Like, soon.”
I raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t feed you?” She hadn’t eaten before they left. They’d taken off over three hours ago. Damn, that fucker played with fire.
I hoped she was a nightmare the whole time.
“He kinda fed me.” She grimaced. “I had some deconstructed Chilean sea bass ceviche tapenade thingy.”
I scoffed. “Is that even food?”
“I have no idea. I’m starving,” she mumbled, turning for the house.
It hadn’t gone well. That was obvious. And they’d just been at a restaurant, like I thought—a shitty restaurant that she didn’t like, on top of it. He hadn’t scored himself any points with that rookie move.
Hope swelled inside me. Maybe this was the last we’d see of Tyler.
Still, she was down.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, standing.
She stopped with her back to me and let her head loll. “Fine.” She paused for a moment. “He asked me to marry him.”
The punch to my heart knocked the wind out of me. What?
I was grateful she wasn’t looking at me because she would have seen it on my face. I couldn’t catch my breath. I almost couldn’t compose myself to answer.
I cleared my throat. “Oh yeah? What did you say?”
She waited a beat until she replied, talking over her shoulder. “I said maybe.”
* * *
While she changed, I made her a sandwich—no mayo, only one piece of ham, provolone, no crust—the way she liked it. I handed it to her wrapped in a paper towel when she came out of her room. She looked like she wanted to cry when she took it from me. I hated seeing her so upset.
We called an Uber so we could drink.
And drink I planned to fucking do.
I said maybe.
He wanted to marry her and she was actually considering it. I felt sick.
In the Uber, she sat next to me with her leg tucked under her in the back seat, her knee poking through the ragged hole of her jeans. She’d done her makeup. She gazed wearily out the window.
I stared at her hand on the seat. Her ring finger was bare. For now. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
She looked over at me. “You want to talk to me about my boyfriend?”
Boyfriend.She called him her boyfriend. Not ex-boyfriend. Boyfriend.
The knife twisted in my heart, but through sheer will I managed to keep my voice level. “Sure. I might be able to give you some insight.”
I was torn between wanting to remain blissfully ignorant and needing to be informed. Morbid curiosity won out. I reasoned that whatever was going to happen would happen whether I knew the details or not. And if she talked to me about it, maybe I could sway her decision in my favor.
She took a deep breath. “Well, he reenlisted. Only this time he won’t be in war zones. He’ll be translating for dignitaries and high-ranking military personnel.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “Translating?”
“Yeah. He’s a linguist. He’s fluent in nine languages—ten. Maybe now it’s ten. He said he’s studying Mandarin. I don’t know.”
Jesus Christ. How had Brandon failed to mention that this joker wasn’t some infantryman doing grunt work? He was smart, educated, and good-looking to boot?
Fucking Brandon. His penchant for understating things was killing me. I was completely unprepared for this guy.
So that’s why the Ice Queen liked him. I looked like a damn fuckboy next to Tyler. No wonder Kristen didn’t want anything serious with me.
“He wants me to marry him. We’d move overseas.” Her eyes flitted up to mine.
My stomach lurched. “And you said maybe?”
“I said I would think about it.”
I scratched my cheek, trying to act like none of this bothered me while inside I was losing my fucking mind. “What are your reservations?”
She didn’t answer me.
“Sloan would miss you if you moved,” I said. Not to mention what it would do to me.