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Caleb
Iwatchsilentlyas the woman behind the counter finishes typing in my mom’s reference number. A few clicks of the mouse and she’s smiling back at me.
“Got it right here, sir. Eleanor Walker. Four books. Two Philipa Gregory and two Agatha Christie. I’ll just need to grab them from the storeroom.”
“No problem,” I murmur.
As she locks the monitor screen and hot-foots it to a door marked ‘Staff Only’, I turn to prop a hip against the desk. I shift my weight. I tilt my neck until it cricks. I scratch at my arm.
When I find myself rocking from heel to toe, I realize I need to chill out. Nervous energy has me practically vibrating out of my skin. I probably look like a madman off his meds.
But it’s hard to calm down when every time I try and rationally confront the source of my anger, I can’t help but wonder about it all the more.
Lizzie had just been so damned pleased to see that guy.
And not just pleased like you are with a friend. If I’d not seen Jace in a few weeks, I wouldn’t be giving him a bear hug and falling all over myself. He’d have been lucky to get a high five.
Lizzie had looked at David like he was the last scoop of ice cream on the planet.
Discovering that I have my fingers wrapped around my forearm and am squeezing against the muscle, I force my hands back to my sides.
Stop it, I tell myself. Just stop it. You have no right to be angry. You have no right to be possessive.
And that’s the real crux of it.
Lizzie. Isn’t. Mine.
For the last six hours, since I’d left Lizzie at her place, I had gone back over that encounter a thousand times, trying to coat it with the appropriate lens.
Each time I see her embracing him, I remind myself that I am not her keeper. I’m not some caveman who dictates who and how she can touch other people. I don’t even have the right to request exclusivity over her touching, because I’m not her boyfriend. So, she’s not breaking any social rules, so I shouldn’t be offended.
In return, each time I see him in my head, staring at her with adoration, I recite that this is natural. Lizzie is a beautiful woman. He’s a red-blooded male. And Lizzie and I aren’t in a publicly-known relationship. We’re not, in fact, in any relationship. So, it’s perfectly logical and perfectly acceptable that he would be staring at her like that. Given Lizzie’s appearance, it would be odd if he didn’t stare.
Therefore, a logical and natural reaction like that shouldn’t be rage-inducing.
Yeah, a fat lot of good that rationale is.
I reach for the back of my neck and try to rub at the tension settling in behind my ears.
Every time I’d performed this little mental routine, the results were always the same, pure jealousy. In the end, I’d stopped it altogether.
Avoidance had become my coping mechanism of choice.
Because every time I reassessed their reunion, my mind hastened along to what they might be doing now. In Lizzie’s house. Alone.
Trying to forget that Lizzie even existed—that she had ever existed in my life—was proving to be more calming.
In fact, on a mental level, it’s almost working.
Deciding on the best course for distraction, I’d come to Gatlinburg to visit mom. She’d been in one of her moods when I’d first arrived, which had focused me on something other than how pathetic I was being. Then she’d asked me to pick up her book order in town. Another simple task with which I could us to distract myself.
But every minute my head had been calm and Lizzie out of my thoughts, my subconscious started reminding me of my hidden anger. And it’s making me twitchy.
“Here we go!”
I almost jump out of skin when the sales lady returns. I turn to find her back in place behind the counter, a small pile of books secured with a paper binding in her hand.
“Sorry that took so long. She ordered it a while ago so it was at the back. I missed it on my first look.”
