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Her frown deepened, and a lump lodged in her throat. It wasn’t really her home, now was it? It was Joe’s. How could she go back there? And dammit, how could she have been so wrong about him?
Thinking of Joe—recalling his expression when he’d told her that he wanted to make it work, makethemwork—had her eyes filling. She’d believed him. Why wouldn’t she?
Low in her belly, anger stirred. She embraced it. What the hell was he doing going out with the Louboutin chick? The woman had called him Joey, for fuck’s sake.Joey. The last time someone had called him Joey, they had been in elementary school. That kid had gotten punched in the face.
She pursed her lips as she felt an itch at the back of her mind. Something was nagging at her. Something didn’t make sense. But she didn’t know what.
Closing her eyes, she let out a breath. Her swirling thoughts settled, and a moment later, it came to her: Joe detested the nickname Joey even more than she detested Roxanne. Well, as much as she detested Roxanne when anyone other than Joe said it. There was no way in hell that woman really knew him if she was calling him Joey. Right?
Dammit. Could she have been wrong? Completely off base? Did she just have the biggest overreaction ever recorded in freaking female-dom?
“Holy crap,” Roxie muttered.
With a groan, she threw her arms over her eyes and winced when her forearm connected with her bruised forehead. Ugh. She was so damn tired and couldn’t think straight. Was she overanalyzing things again or was it all exactly as it appeared? She was just... so freaking confused.
With everything so vague, she needed to focus on the two facts she knew for sure.
Fact number one: Joe had gone on a dinner date with a blond, perky, and fabulously dressed skank. Okay, fine. Whether the other woman was actually a skank or not, Roxie didn’t know or care. Whether it had actually been a date or not, she hadn’t a clue. She hoped with all her heart, all her mind, all her freaking being, that it hadn’t.
Fact number two: Joe had kissed her in front of his dad. Hisdad. That had to meansomething. Right?
Maybe, but she had a hard time believing it. Because there was a part of her that still doubted him. Doubted the depths of his feelings for her. It was completely selfish and untrusting and paranoid of her. But there it was.
Truth be told, she was scared. She didn’t want to lose him. Especially since she’d only just gotten a taste of what they could be together. Roxie was completely herself with him, and there was something liberating about that. He made her feel safe, and she craved him like no other. She’d never loved anyone the way she loved him.
The thought gave her pause. She loved him. No, she wasin lovewith him.
Coming to that realization should freak her out. Instead, it calmed her. Steadied her.
She closed her eyes and sighed. What she needed to do was talk to the man. There was no use stewing and worrying when she could simply ask him her questions directly. Namely, did he love her, too?
“Yeah, right,” she murmured to herself, rolling her eyes. She could imagine how the blood would drain from his face at the question.
But... what if it didn’t?
Shaking her head, Roxie pursed her lips. She needed to get a grip. She needed to squash the hope blooming in her chest. There was no hoping allowed until she talked to the guy, dammit.
Lifting her arms from her eyes, she confirmed that her landline was still indeed across the room on her desk. Her office wasn’t big. At all. But with the way her ankle burned, it might as well have been the length of a football field.
She massaged her sensitive temples again. The pounding in her head slowly dulled to an angry, pulsating throb. The futon was uncomfortable as hell, but her limbs grew oddly heavy with exhaustion, as if she were sinking into the mattress.
She was physically spent—and a tiny voice in the back of her mind wondered if she’d hit her head harder than she’d realized—but she was also so damn tired of her own thoughts. This does-he-or-doesn’t-he crap was getting to be too much. She was beginning to sound like a heroine in a high school romance novel. The last time she’d checked, Joe didn’t sparkle in the sunlight.
Ugh, kill me now.
Sending up a little prayer that she didn’t have a concussion, Roxie gave in to sleep, promising herself that she would talk to Joe later. She needed to get to the bottom of what was going on.
CHAPTERTHIRTY
Roxie’s eyes flew open. A few heartbeats passed before she recognized the lumpy office futon beneath her. Once her vision adjusted to the dim light, a glance at the clock showed it was a little past midnight.
Something had woken her up, but she wasn’t sure what.
She stilled. There it was. A splashing, sloshing noise. But that didn’t make any sense.
Her eyes narrowed as she heard it again. What was that?
Sitting up on the futon, she groaned. Her head was screaming, and her body was protesting every movement. She tried to put pressure on her right foot and nearly howled. Sweat dampened her brow as she leaned back against the unforgiving cushions.
