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“Bringing up your ex-fiancée. I know it must be hard.”
Wesley purposely ignores my comment, continuing to tap on his phone. His rude behavior angers me. Odd, since I usually don’t allow this. He lightly throws the cell on the table, the vinyl making it slide to the middle and settling right next to the salt and pepper shakers.
I’m tired and hungry. Mama used to say that the only way to get me to reason was on a full stomach. I can smell the grease in the air—fries, burgers, onion rings—the same time my stomach makes a rumbling sound which I attempt to cover with my arm.
Peggy arrives with our food, offloading three plates in front of us. I thank her, then dig into my burger devouring every bite. Wesley barely touches his food, picking at the bun then shoving his plate away from him.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, stopping mid-bite.
“I need to go.”
“Okay.” I wipe my hands on the napkin and grab my purse. “We can go.”
He stands abruptly, walking toward the counter. For a brief moment, he says something to Peggy, and she looks my way. I’m not sure what I did wrong, aside from mentioning Emerson, and continue sitting here waiting like an idiot.
Peggy walks over as Wesley goes in the opposite direction, toward the exit.
“It was so lovely to meet ya, doll.”
“And you, Peggy. The food’s amazing… I mean, sorry I didn’t get a chance to finish it.”
She pats my shoulder, lowering herself to my eye level. “He’s a complicated boy. Just give him his space.”
I smile politely, thanking her again, and then make my way outside.
On the fast ride home, I think about Peggy’s comment in an effort to stomach my food. Driving what feels like a hundred miles per hour with a belly half-full of burger and fries makes it difficult to concentrate.
Wesley may be a complicated man, but I don’t think I’m crowding him. He keeps pursuing me. Wesley is nothing like Liam. They’re polar opposites. Liam is so predictable. He’s like a safety blanket you carry around. If you need him, he’s there. He never makes you feel unwanted or carry any sort of complication with him.
We arrive at my apartment, Wesley making no effort to move off the bike. The frustration comes over me, gripping his shoulders for support to get myself down from the bike. I take off the helmet and shove it into his body. He removes his, though not making eye contact. “See ya.” It’s all he says before placing his helmet back on and not giving me a chance to voice my frustration at him. He twists the handlebar, roaring the engine before screeching off and leaving me alone on the street.
He’s every bit the complicated man that Peggy said.
And I need answers.
Chapter Eleven
It’s time to get answers.
I stare at the computer, fighting back the excessive blinking from the strain of the flickering screen.
My vision is blurred, a rainbow of colors and shapes that make no sense at all. The palm of my hand is covered in sweat, nervously twitching on top of the mouse. My chest tightens, my heart beating erratically like a crazed lunatic trapped inside an asylum.
The clock on the wall is loud. Every sound in the room is amplified.
Or perhaps, I’ve officially gone insane.
The tips of my fingers move of their own accord, typing so slowly that each key echoes inside our barely furnished apartment.
His name sits within the search engine. All I need to do is hit search. Simple, right? There will be no turning back. No erasing of information that will find a home inside my reactive brain and remain there forever because it has this stupid way of retaining information I don’t need.
Like the time I accidentally read a love letter from my dad to Mama. It started like a romance novel then quickly progressed to X-rated porn. And the time I walked in on my brother helping himself to a copy of Hustler perched on his bedside table. Information I retain, yet am desperate to erase.
Click.
My eyes wander hastily across the screen. Millions of findings and an overload of information that seems too much to handle.
Where do I start?
