Page 178 of Just for the Plot

We both get in the car, but I sit in the far back, away from the driver as OC joins me.

“Can you turn up the music up front, man?” OC asks the driver.

“Sure thing,” he says, moving the music to the front so we can talk softly and he can’t hear us.

“I’m not in a good headspace, man,” I say, my leg bouncing, my energy dark, pushing me to make a mistake, to do something I shouldn’t.

“That’s why you need to get home and just fucking chill. Take a shower and then start at it with a clear head tomorrow.”

I grind my teeth together. “I don’t think I’ll get any goddamn sleep tonight. I’m buzzed, ready to wear through a goddamn wall, do damage. I want to do damage. I want to feel pain other than the pain that’s tearing at my heart right now.”

“I get that, more than anything. But it’s not going to help, and the last thing you need right now is bad press. Gretchen would lose her shit.”

“Fuck Gretchen.”

“Yes, I agree. Fuck Gretchen, but Graydon would say the same thing. You need to handle this internally. Texting me was smart. In the morning, you can text Graydon and get his advice as well, but taking this out in public, making a scene, not fucking smart, man. That’s how professional careers plummet, and what’s going to hurt more than not having the girl is not having the girl and losing all the hard work you put into getting to where you are.”

I know he’s right. If I did something stupid, like lose my shit in public, it could have severe consequences and ruin the years of sacrifices and hard work that becoming a professional baseball player required, as well as all the sacrifices Gabby made for me. And I couldn’t do that to her.

So even though I’m itching to just take someone out for no other reason than expelling energy, I know I need to go back to my place, sit on my goddamn hands, and just stare at a wall until I’m calm.

Not wanting to talk, I spend the rest of the car ride staring out the window, trying not to let my mind race to that red dress she was wearing,or how that red lipstick would transfer over to Cougar when she kisses him, or how she might get out of that dress later.

Instead, I attempt to practice steady breathing while OC reads me an article about Maple and Graydon and their social media presence, something I couldn’t give two shits about at the moment.

When we pull up to my apartment building, I offer OC a nod with a curt thanks and then get out of the Suburban before heading up the steps to my building.

What if the date was shit and she’s home already?

What if I run into them in the hallway?

What if they came back early and she invited him to her apartment and they’re there right now, fucking making out on the goddamn bed I got her?

I punch the elevator button to go up and immediately get in, pressing the button to my floor. Someone asks me to hold the elevator, but I pretend I don’t hear them as I click on the button to shut the doors sooner. Thankfully it works this time.

As I ride up the elevator, I’m tempted to call Gabby, to grill her on what else Bower told her about her life and to ask what the hell Gabby said that would make Bower have this complete one-eighty. She was sucking my dick off before I left, and now she’s on a date with another man.

How the fuck does that work?

When I reach my floor, I unlock my door, and I don’t bother turning the lights on as I toss my keys and wallet on the table next to the door, lock up, and then head straight to my bedroom, where I flip the light on, only to find Bower curled up on the bed, wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

Holy fuck, she’s…she’s here.

In my bed.

Not with him.

Chills spread across my limbs from the mere sight of her, that’s untilI notice her tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes highlighted by the lamp on the nightstand.

Did he do this to her? I’m going to fucking kill him.

I rush over to her and sit on the bed, placing my hand on her hip as I say, “What did he do to you?”

She shakes her head, more tears streaming down her face as she says, “Nothing, he did nothing.”

“Then why are you crying?”

Realization doesn’t quite hit me that she’s here, in my apartment, out of that dress, no makeup on her face, and looking like she’s been crying for an hour, but she is.