Say You Still Love Me(36)

And plow into a solid body.

“Excuse me. I assumed it was empt—” My words cut off as I peer up into familiar eyes. “Oh . . . hey.”

A few beats pass before Kyle responds with a soft “Hey.”

“I . . . my phone. I wasn’t paying attention,” I admit in a stammer, before clearing my throat.

His gaze flickers downward to linger on my mouth for a moment, before flitting back to meet my eyes.

That’s when I see it. The smallest upturn of his lips, the tiniest knowing smile.

It’s just for a second. It’s just long enough.

Actually, I like the red on you. Like, really like it.

I take a deep breath, as an odd mix of vindication and sorrow washes through me.

“It’s good to see you again, Kyle.”

“Good to see you, too, Piper,” he finally offers, his jaw tensing as he peers down at me, though his eyes show a hint of softness that wasn’t there before.

“Not Sarah?” I keep my voice light, casual, as if Friday’s slight didn’t leave a deep wound, didn’t keep my mind spinning all weekend long.

The tip of his tongue catches the corner of his mouth, where nothing but a faint scar from his lip ring remains. “Yeah. I’m . . . That was . . . Sorry about that.”

“How could you forget my name?” This time, I can’t hide the hurt.

His lips twist with thought, as if considering how to answer. “I didn’t,” he finally admits, his gaze landing on his black boots. “I was surprised and unprepared. I was . . . a jerk.”

“Yeah. You were.” And the lobby at seven thirty on Monday morning is not the place to demand a better explanation.

His broad chest lifts with a deep sigh. “So, how are you?” His voice remains cool. Does he really want to know? Or is this just a formality?

I push aside that thought. “I’m good. Great, actually.”

“Yeah, seems like it.” I detect a sardonic flavor in his tone as his hazel eyes roam the atrium’s architecture.

“And you? You seem to be doing well.” My gaze drifts over his uniform.

“Can’t complain. Rikell’s a decent company. I get benefits and holidays. You know, that sort of stuff.” He folds his arms across his chest, making his biceps look that much bigger and more sculpted in the short sleeves of his uniform shirt.

And I catch myself staring at them, for far too long. So long that he begins shifting on his feet. “How many is that now?” I nod toward the sleeve of ink, even as my cheeks flush.

He stretches his arm out in front of him, slowly turning it this way and that, as if admiring his own tattoos. “I stopped counting a long time ago.”

“I’ll bet.” I clear my throat. “Do you live in the city?”

“Summer Heights.”

“Oh, yeah? Nice. We have a few buildings out there.” It’s a good half-hour commute by car—longer, by public transit—an area considered more affordable for young families and people just starting out.

“Yeah, well, we’re renting for now. We’ll see how we like it.”

We’re renting.

We’ll see how we like it.

Of course Kyle’s living with someone. He’s thirty years old. My stomach tightens as my gaze drops to his left hand. There’s no wedding band. Not even a tan line of one. An unexpected wave of relief hits me, followed by that voice inside my head, reminding me that a missing ring doesn’t mean he’s not married. Or at least madly in love with someone: that the next step isn’t inevitable.

I push that painful thought aside. “I just live a few blocks from here. With Ashley and Christa.”

That earns a high-browed look. “Christa?”

I laugh. “She’s gotten a lot better. Most of the time.”

“That’s . . . cool. I guess?” His gaze drifts to the security desk behind me, and I sense him searching for an escape. “I should—”

“Have you kept in touch with anyone from Wawa?” Was I the only one you completely shut out?

When his eyes meet mine again, there’s heaviness in them. “I’ve seen Eric a few times over the years, but that’s it.”

“Oh yeah?” Despite the tension, I smile at the mention of that goof. “We were just talking about him the other night. How’s he doing? Still a pain in the ass?”

Kyle’s eyes narrow as he studies me for a long moment. “He’s good. Listen, I should get back to work. I don’t want Gus firing me on my first day.”

“Says the guy who used to sneak off the second he saw any opening,” I tease softly.

“Yeah, well . . . That was a long time ago. Shit happens. People change.” His smile is sad.

“They do.” Sometimes for the better, and sometimes not.

But which is it, for Kyle?

I feel the overwhelming need to know. “Hey, do you want to grab a drink sometime? Or a coffee, or lunch, or whatever. You know, catch up on things.” On everything.

A curious smirk touches his lips, but it’s fleeting. “Yeah . . .” His brow furrows. “Let’s keep it simple for now. You know, stick to hellos in the morning and goodbyes at night. That sort of thing.” His voice is low and soft—almost apologetic—as he delivers me the verbal blow.