Otis walked backward until he melted into the shadows of the bookshelf.
“Give me a truth,” I urged him. “What’s in this for you? It can’t be the money or the fame. Are you having a midlife crisis?” I tried to keep my voice light, but the hurt snuck through, hiding behind each syllable. I shrugged, hoping to push the question out. “Is it a stupid bet you’ve?—”
He winced.
I pulled my hand from his, the room suddenly feeling unbearably quiet.
“Holy shit. It’s a bet, isn’t it?”
There, between a flickering light bulb and a stack ofPercy Jacksonbooks, I saw so many emotions flash across his face all at once that I wondered if his facial muscles would freeze in that contorted state. His brow creased—frustration. His lip curled—anger. He closed his eyes—shame. He let out a deep breath—regret.
“What do you get if you win this, John? A round of drinks from your colleagues and a pat on the back?”
My words came out venomous. “A date with a supermodel? What?” I knew I was being unreasonable. I knew I was being childish.
His voice came out dark when he finally spoke. “I should’ve never let it get this far.”
My alarm bells didn’t just ring—they screamed. I turned away from him, not wanting to hear what he stood to gain while I was about to lose the store. Instead, I busied my hands, angrily unpacking delivery boxes.
“Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.” The fury inside me spread like wildfire, consuming all the fuzzy feelings I had waking up this morning. All the kisses, touches, and glimpses behind the curtain were suddenly reduced to ash. I couldn’t believe it. A fucking bet.
“It’s not easy to explain.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation, John.” I said, suddenly way too focused on finding a sharpened pencil to stab him with. Or maybe myself. Hadn’t decided yet.
“Nora—”
“I thought you had to go?” I slammed the drawer shut, closing the conversation for good. When he caught my gaze, his expression shattered. I had told him I could never hate him. Well, I’m pretty sure that’s what he saw.
He nodded, looking at his boots, then back up at me. “You’re right. Let’s not make this more complicated.”
He nodded to Otis before heading for the door.
“I’ll see you at the announcement then.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
My tonsils have been thoroughly inspected.
Broody men also cry.
I’m not jealous.
I tucked Mom under a blanket on the sofa. She was having one of her quiet days. The TV hummed with teleshopping. The front door was unlocked, and the house smelled like a mixture of vanilla extract and rum. I grabbed the stack of envelopes beside the door with a sense of resignation. There was little point in opening them. Instead, I would add them to the rest.
Downstairs, I turned off the lights, flipped the sign to "Closed," and then just…stood there. In the dark. Not knowing what I should do next, or where to go. It was the first time in my life I felt truly lost.
I glanced over the shelves hidden in shadows—books Dad had handpicked, walls he’d painted. I felt their stares like a weight on my shoulders. I needed to leave. Needed not to talk. Not to think.
Instead of calling Otis, I found myself at Garland’s, adding rows of debt to a tab. My stomach churned with acid after doom-scrolling through social media on repeat.
Stats, posts, tags. Mentions, numbers, likes. Comments, shares. Repeat.
JereMay and I were neck and neck, but it didn’t matter because John’s numbers had grown, creating a staggering gap. There was little chance I’d ever catch up—not in the next few days.
A fucking bet.
I downed another glass. My head started to feel numb, pleasantly fuzzy. I needed a cigarette and a lay.
