Page 47 of The Beat Match

Duncan dropped the files on Weston’s desk and resumed his position at the window, both men watching the hovering fog. “Care to talk about it?”

What he wanted was to erase his past. Bring Leo back. Change the decisions he’d made that fateful night, and the lies he’d told Annie since. He wanted to believe he could date Annie without eventually hurting her by freaking out. “Thanks for asking, but I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t have to be an island, Wes. I know this merger’s stressful, but there are people around you who can help. I can help, if you’ll let me.”

The merger should be the only thing occupying his mind, but he was back to remembering dating Lila, her calls after he’d run out on her, all of them tear-filled and confused. Then one final angry message: You’re an asshole, Weston. I don’t know what broke you, but I hope you’re honest with the next woman you date before you break her heart.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated as he swallowed the sourness in his mouth. Pushing Annie away had been the right choice. The responsible choice. He massaged his neck. “Thanks for the files.”

Duncan lingered a second longer, then nodded and left.

Weston picked up his phone and called Rosanna. “Let’s go out tomorrow night. Get some visibility. I’ll take you to Angelonia. It was written up this week.”

“Hello to you, too, Weston. How nice of you to call.”

He tried to smile at her sarcasm. His face felt like it had been injected with iron. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“What makes you think I’m free?”

“Because we made a deal, and I expect you to uphold your end of it.”

“What’s up with you? This isn’t your usual level of grouchiness.”

“Nothing’s up.” Unless the atrophying of his organs counted.

“Does your therapist believe that bullshit?”

He hadn’t seen a therapist in years, but there was no doubt his inability to voice his troubles would have infuriated her. He rested his hip on his desk and eyed his bucking bull sculpture on his coffee table. “I hurt Annie last week,” he finally admitted, words he hadn’t been able to force out with Duncan. Something about Rosanna made her an easier sounding board.

“Is this the Annie you talk about nonstop but swear there’s nothing going on?”

“There isn’t anything going on.” Which was precisely the problem. And the solution.

“Let me rephrase: is this the Annie you won’t admit to being infatuated with?”

He opened his mouth to deny her claim. Nothing came out.

“Are you not attracted to her?”

Annie was stunning and sexy and had starred in one too many of Weston’s recent erotic dreams. Attraction wasn’t the problem. Neither was compatibility. She was perfectly messy and ridiculous and everything he could want in a woman, but if he confessed that truth to her, things would be set in motion he couldn’t undo. “Annie’s my kind of perfect, but I’m not the right man for her. There are things I’ve kept from her. Unforgiveable things. And I have a bad track record with women. So I distanced myself by hurting her.”

“That’s pretty heartless, Wes.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, but this might: you’re probably wrong. I don’t know what you haven’t told her, but worrying you’ll hurt her because you’ve hurt other women is nonsense. From the tidbits you’ve shared, it sounds like she’s different to you. More important. But you’ve built up this nasty version of yourself in your head and you think you’re destined to walk through a snake-infested jungle no matter which path you follow. I say start forging not following. Get a machete and hack that shit up.”

Easier said than done when straying into this unknown could mean losing Annie in the end. He still believed this tension-filled blip would pass. They’d resume their friendship in time. Their easy bickering. So why did staying away from her make him feel like he was dying inside?

“I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow,” he told Rosanna. Taking her to Angelonia was what he needed. A break from his quiet condo. A night of laughing at her wild stories. Eventually, his infatuation with Annie would end.

* * *

Annie threaded her fingers through the fringed threads hanging off the end of her throw pillow as she studied the water stains on her ceiling. The gray smudges looked like a jellyfish battle, or a Rastafarian with super cool hair. She blinked, her eyes blurring as she stared harder, deciding on jellyfish at war. By the time she glanced down at her computer, there were two messages from Deaf Jam. According to the time, the last one had been there ten minutes.

Deaf Jam: Did you develop a case of instantaneous blindness or am I boring you?

More like she’d developed a severe case of the mopes. She’d been miserable this week, sad and listless. Barely eating. Not even cramming her face with chips and chocolate. Her self-confidence was at an all-time low. Falling in love with Wes was the worst thing she’d ever done.