It takes all my fucking strength not to shove his ass down the stairs. “About what?”
He casts a tentative glance over his shoulder. “Please? Can I just have your number? We can talk.”
Is this fucker for real? Flexing my hands by my sides, I need to finger the edges of my clothing so I don’t deck this asshole. “Where’s your phone?”
He whips it out of the pocket of his sweats and holds it out to me.
With a shake of my head, I point at the damn thing. “Unlock it, and go to your contacts.”
His head starts moving slowly from side to side as all color drains from his face. “No.” It’s barely a whisper. He turns the phone to me, he’s at ‘T’ in his contacts, and my name’s not there. “Short for Victoria, right?” He scrolls further into the alphabet and there’s no sign of my name there either.
I can’t even with this dumbass. “You’re kidding me, right?”
His eyes are pleading with me. “I—uh.”
“Go to ‘F’”
Confusion pinches his brow as his thumb works the screen. It takes a long minute of scrolling the names on the list. Scroll up, head tip, scroll back. His eyes are working up and down while he nibbles on his bottom lip.
I see the exact moment when he realizes he’s had my number this whole time. How did he not know that? It’s literallyrightthere. Regardless, it’s the final nail in the coffin for this ghosting prick. I’m already turned on my heel and halfway down the stairs when a single word falls from his lips that brings tears to my eyes.
“Firecracker."
CHAPTER 16
Raffi
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.” Dunno why the words coming out of my mouth are so measured, clipped, and formal when my insides are like they’ve been pushed through a shredder.
I swallow.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t say a thing.
We’re the only people in Get the Fork Out—the local, secret, tiny pie cafe inside a dry cleaners—and we’ve both ordered a slice of savory pie. It’s the first time I’ve been here since ownership changed. Apparently the old owner wanted to move home to Ireland to be closer to his family, so he sold the business and left.
The new owner, Megan, is a bubbly young woman who seems to know her pie stuff. Apparently she was Brian’s sous chef, and the key to all the amazing pie secrets. But the proof is in the eating.
Victoria just stares at me, silent loathing seeping out of her body as she mentally plans various ways to kill me. At least that’s how it feels, like she’s plotting my murder. Repeatedly.
I guess it’s time to come clean. “I don’t remember you.”
She recoils like I smacked her.
“I have a history of taking bad hits during games and getting concussions. From what I can piece together, I met you, then I got concussion and lost a few days of my memory.”
Her face is twisted by emotions. Anger, suspicion and heartbreak all flicker across her beautiful features.
She leans toward me. “You don’t remember me?”
A shake of my head is all I can manage in response.
“At all?” Her voice is loaded with grief, like I reached into her chest and gripped her heart with scissors.
Another shake.
She opens her purse and pulls out her phone. While she searches for something—probably a news article about my face colliding with the plexi glass—Megan brings our pies, but I can’t stomach a single bite until we figure this out.
“Th-that’s the day after…” Her voice is quiet. Her face falls as she reads. Her chin trembles, and before I can blink, tears stream down her face. She pushes back from the table, grabbing her purse as she does. She’s going to bolt.
