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Sorry, London. I can’t make it today. Long story.
Shit, that’s short and to the point and it jabs at the insecurity already plaguing my mind since Myles stopped by. I type up a quick response.
Everything okay?
The dots dance across the screen, showing me she’s typing. Then, they vanish. I watch my phone, clutching it and waiting for her response. A few long minutes, and a couple of vanishing dots later, her text finally comes in.
I’m processing.
The lump that’s settled itself in the center of my torso gains some added weight. Is this because of what almost happened between us? Is she having second thoughts about working on this event now?
I knew I’d nearly crossed a line. Had Myles not burst in, I have no doubt in my mind, I would have kissed Lily. And I kicked myself all night long. It was rash and stupid and—why I decided I need to keep things strictly professional from here on out.
I’d hoped that with the way we’d parted yesterday, she was going to let things slide, too. Hell, maybe she hadn’t even noticed.
Fighting back the dread creeping into my body, I type back, trying to keep it simple and not jump to conclusions.
That doesn’t sound good.
What I really want to do is race over to her house so I can talk to her, tell her how sorry I am, and how nothing like that will happen again. It takes everything in me to stay seated at my desk.
A few minutes roll by and just as I set down my phone, assuming she’s done talking about this, my phone dings again.
I flip it over and read her response.
It’s not bad. Just … Crap, I don’t know.
My brows pinch tight and I sit up straighter, typing back.
Is this about yesterday?
I stare at the words for a few minutes, wondering if I should ask this question that’s burning in my mind. Weighing the pros and cons, I finally hit send and hold my breath.
Her response is almost instantaneous and takes all the air out of my lungs.
Yes.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing away from my desk and shoving my phone into my pocket.
I’ve screwed up royally in the past—but this …This feels worse than all of the others. I can’t even tell you how long I’ve been imagining what it would be like to have Lily back in my life and I’ve fucked it up within the first month.
Great going, London. Truly, stellar work.
I make my way to the bar, where Myles is busy putting up the new stock of bottles on the glass shelves behind the bar.
Bellying up, I admit, “I need a drink.”
Myles turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting Lily in an hour?”
I shake my head. “She’s not coming.”
“Really?” she says, drawing out the e for far too long.
I level her with a glare.
There’s no way I’m getting into this with her again. I just need something to take the edge off so I can go back to work without every thought being about Lily.
Of course, that doesn’t help me now because all I can think about is what would have happened if Myles hadn't come in when she did.
