The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(96)

“I don’t know if she’ll want to see me.” I grimace. “I might have … fired her.”

“Again?” Harper asks.

“Again.”

She bites her lip. “Well, looks like you’ve got some groveling and grand gesturing to do.”

Tank comes to stand on my other side as we watch Pat try to wrestle his way out of the dumpster. “Too bad you threw our groveling expert in the trash.”

“Yeah, I’m not helping you now,” Pat says.

I lunge for the dumpster and he squeals, falling back into the trash bags. “You’ll still help me,” I say. “If I need help.”

His laughter echoes from inside the metal dumpster walls. And then he tosses the banner Winnie made out onto the sidewalk. Other than a streak of some unidentifiable food, it looks okay.

“Trust me, brother. You definitely need my help.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mutter. But at this point, I’ll take whatever help I can get.

“Um, hi?” I turn to see a woman it takes me a moment to place out of context. She’s standing next to a Prius—probably why none of us heard her pull up—looking between Pat in the dumpster and the rest of us.

“Kyoko?”

She waves. “That’s me. Is this a bad time? It kind of looks like a bad time.”

“If you came to see Winnie, she’s not here.”

Kyoko walks over, then picks up the banner by one corner, wrinkling her nose. “Actually, Winnie told me to come. I’m here to apply for a job.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE





Winnie



Sometimes, I really really hate my best friends. Especially when I told them not to come over but they do anyway and then try to get me to talk about my FEELINGS.

Feelings? What feelings?

I don’t have feelings.

YOU have feelings. And you can keep them. Because I don’t want them. I have a zero-feeling carbon footprint. Doing my part to help the environment!

“Remember,” Lindy says, patting my thigh, “just a few months back, you were telling me to go for it with Pat. And look how that turned out?”

“I remember. It filled your practical head with romantic nonsense, which you’re now spewing at me.”

I shove Lindy’s hand away with a grumble that reminds me way too much of James and his constant rumbly, grumbly, growly sounds. Not that I miss them as the soundtrack to my life. The stubborn man can keep his stupid grump noises. I need to find my own noises. But right now, all mine would be wimpy ones like sighs and whimpers and sniffles.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” I whine.

“We are on your side,” Val pipes up from my other side, bumping her shoulder into mine. “Every couple has fights. You’ll get through this.”

They’ve made me the meat and cheese in a very squished sandwich, both practically sitting in my lap on Chevy’s couch. It’s like they suspect I’ll run if they don’t bodily keep me here.

They know me too well. Though, honestly, none of us are going anywhere because we’re drinking. Lindy and I are sipping jalapeno margaritas I made, while Val has a strawberry wine cooler that looks like blood.

“We aren’t a couple. We never were.” I’ve made this argument already. Several times, in fact. It doesn’t stick now any better than it did when I first said it. Even if it’s the truth.

“It was an unspoken coupling,” Lindy says.

I roll my eyes. “That’s worse than an unconscious coupling.”

Val frowns. “How does one become a couple while unconscious?”

“Go google Gwyneth Paltrow and her conscious uncoupling. Later,” Lindy adds when Val pulls out her phone. “But seriously. Just because you and James didn’t have an official conversation, a DTR, if you will—”

“I won’t.”

“That doesn’t mean you weren’t a couple. You kissed.”

“Quiet! Chevy is probably listening with his ear pressed to the bedroom door. He doesn’t need to hear details about me kissing.” I don’t want Chevy going all big brother again and trying to take on James. “Plus, people kiss all the time who aren’t in relationships.”

“Not you,” Lindy points out.

“Not me. But some people.”

“You kissed a lot,” Val adds in a loud whisper, waggling her dark brows at me. “Didn’t you say you kissed him in every square foot of the warehouse? That’s a lot of square feet.”

“Not helping.”

I don’t want to think about kissing James while pressed up against the storage room door. Or behind that stack of pallets. Or while perched on top of the pallets. Or while—NO. Must stop thinking of kissing. I want to think about despising.

Even though, in truth, I don’t despise James. Even now.

I can still see the pain on his face as he lashed out at me. I didn’t deserve it. But I also made an error in judgment trying to show him my presentation when I did. I know that. I think I knew it then too. James is working through something else, something bigger, something that probably has little to do with me. I just happened to be the one who buzzed around him like an annoying fly until he slapped me away. I get it.