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“The Harry Potter guy? Seriously?”
“Yes.” I reminded myself to unclench my jaw. “Why? You don’t think anyone would want to take me out?”
He heaved out a long breath like I was such a chore. “No. I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what it sounds like you’re saying.”
“Maybe you need to get your hearing checked,” he said, over enunciating each word like he was itching for a fight.
Well, he got one.
“I don’t see Bridget anywhere.”
“She wasn’t invited.”
“No? That’s too bad.” I crossed my arms. “Guess it’s on to the next one.”
“You are—”
“All right.” My mom stuck her hand out, tapping her watch. “Gemmie, don’t you have to go? It’s almost seven.”
I tucked my little black purse into the crook of my elbow, kissed Mom and Frank, and pivoted.
I should’ve known he’d follow me outside.
“Gemma, wait.”
“Nope. I’m late.”
The door slammed shut. “You are exasperating, you know that?” He caught me around the waist, spinning me to face him. “Utterly exasperating.”
“I’m not interested in what you think about me,” I said, slipping out of his grasp to fix my dress from where the cut-out slanted out of place. His gaze lingered for a few moments before trekking up to meet mine, but not without spending time at my breasts, neck, and lips.
His brows narrowed over his eyes, somehow both freezing blue and burning hot. “I’m sorry, Gemma.”
“Okay.” I nodded then went off on my merry way to meet Remy.
“Gem—”
I held my hand up behind my head. “Bye, Jason.”
He didn’t tail me to my car. Thank god. I didn’t know how much fight I had left in me until I finally gave in.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Gem
With mere days until the wedding, I rode my bike to yoga for some extra relaxation. I needed time to enjoy the quiet of nature to center myself for class. Mom had called no fewer than three times every day for the past three days with a number of emergencies. First with her hair not being dyed the right color, then the wedding singer coming down with a sinus infection, and as of yesterday, a meltdown about a thirty-percent chance of rain. I’d invited her and Frank to come to my class then immediately turned my phone off, hiding it in her closet for good measure. One more frantic phone call and it might have gone down the toilet.
“Hello! Hello!” My mom chirped
I got up from my position on the floor. “You actually came.”
“You said it would help.” She dropped her bag in the corner of the room. “I tried calling you last night and this morning.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled as I high-fived Frank, who wore sweatpants and a T-shirt a tad too tight around his belly.
He halfheartedly stretched side to side. “Is this going to be hard?”
