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"No no nooooo… See, this is what I meant when I said it sounds worse than it is. Come on, PJ, don't be mad. I can guarantee he would have asked you out anyway."
"Maybe you should stop making bets and guarantees, Trevor. How's that working out for you?" I peer into the reading room. Some of the kids are climbing the wall. Literally. "You should probably go."
Trevor reaches for my arm, but I pull away.
He sighs. "Fine. I'll go. But we'll talk about this later. Please don't misconstrue this. You hate miscommunication in your romance novels, right? Don't bethat guy."
* * *
I'm trying really fucking hard not to bethat guy, but despite Trevor rushing over to me after children's reading hour and doing his best to placate me, I'm feeling a lot of things in the back seat of the Uber headed for Branum's timber yard.
I bump the side of the door with my right elbow, so I twist around to do the same with my left, keeping an eye on the driver to make sure he doesn't notice in the rearview mirror. Last thing I need right now is to be judged for my OCD.
I manage to successfully make contact, but as I swing back around, my left hand drops to the seat. I tap the seat four times with my left hand, before counting out four taps with my right.
Just breathe, PJ. Try to calm down.
I'm so confused.
On the one hand, I want to trust Branum.
He's been honest with me, even when he didn't need to be. He's never given me any reason to doubt him or suspect his motives.
But the thing I can't get over, the one niggling, annoying thought that keeps rattling around in my head is: did he really only ask me out because he lost a bet?
That's so humiliating.
That hurts.
And it makes me feel like absolute shit because for the first time in my life, I thought I'd finally met a guy who, for real, liked me for me.
And I likedthatfeeling. I liked being open and myself and not hiding any part of me. I've only just had a taste of it, and what, now it's going to get ripped away?
I know I should give Branum the benefit of the doubt, and I want to. We resolved the silly first-kiss issue by talking. Maybe we can do the same with this?
Like Trevor said, it could be one of those situations that sounds worse than it actually is. And Idon'twant to make a scene or do the typical over-the-top thing I hate reading about in my novels, but the pain flooding me is real, and it makes it hard to think straight, to know what's real and what isn't.
The car pulls up at the timber yard, and I mutter a quick thanks to the driver. I head straight for the small admin building and step inside.
"Good afternoon." A friendly-looking, middle-aged lady smiles at me from behind her desk.
"Hi."
"Can I help you, sweetie?"
"Um, yeah." I point to the closed door off to the side that I'm assuming is Branum's office. "Is Branum here?"
"He sure is." She gets up. "Can I tell him—?"
The door swings open, and Branum strides out. He looks sexy as fuck in his navy blue coveralls. He's got the sleeves rolled up, his veiny forearms on display, but I am not focusing on that right now.
"Hey, PJ." He smiles warmly. "What brings you by?"
I drop my head.
Fuck. What was I thinking, coming over here unannounced? I'm an idiot.
"Come inside." Branum gestures to his office, his voice serious. "Hold my calls please, Dee."
