Page 102 of Wild Thing
“Lame.”
“Yep.”
I was fucking pissed off. And there was only one thing to do when a man pisses you off.
“Another round?”
Twenty-Eight
DYLAN
Friday
Something had changed.
It was the last day of the conference and I was surrounded by architects, interior designers, engineers and project managers in the early morning session.
I really didn’t want to be there.
I felt deflated after Brax abruptly disappeared from the bar the day before.
No explanation, just gone.
I had wanted so badly to text him, to demand some sort of answer for his sudden exit. I wanted to ask him what the hell was going on.
But I’d stopped myself.
He didn’t owe me an explanation, not really. I had to remind myself that we weren't together. He didn't answer to me; he could do what he wanted.
Still, it pissed me off though.
The problem with not asking him directly was that it left my mind spinning in overdrive. I spent the rest of the evening analyzing every little thing, caught in a loop of speculation.
Maybe the reason he'd left wasn’t because of what Greg had said to me.
Maybe meeting Taylor had spooked him.
Maybe there was something else going on, something I hadn’t considered. Like his conscience. Maybe his guilt outweighed any desire to be with me.
I hated how needy I'd become.
As if I willed it into existence, my phone vibrated with a text from Brax.
Come out the front.
What did he think I was doing? Sitting in here, waiting for him to text like a lovesick loser?
Well…that was exactly what I was doing.
But, still. I wasn't about to drop everything and race out the front. I wasn't desperate.
Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then, three dots appeared again.
He was writing a message and then deleting it.
Part of me got satisfaction knowing that he was attempting to text something that was making him nervous.
I’m sorry for leaving yesterday.
