Page 38 of Passing Notes
It had to be Nick. With breakfast and some kind of hangover cure.
Gah! What I really needed was coffee and maybe a bubble bath. Combine the two and we’d have a winner.
Nick at my door was the opposite of what I needed.
Or maybe he’s everything you need? Shut up, brain.
I threw the covers back, determined to snatch whatever he’d brought me, thank him for being neighborly, then slam the door in his face. It was the best thing for both of us.
A clean break.
No more wondering what if?
No more questioning if we could start over.
None of it.
He had kids to consider, and I was bad news, bad at love, just bad—everyone said so.
I had to be the strong one for both of us. Story of my damn life.
I grabbed the robe off the footboard of my bed and slipped into it.
Why was I so angry? He’d done nothing to deserve all the shit going around in my brain. Nothing recent, anyway.
Deep breath. In with the good, out with the wackadoodle bullcrap that usually fills your head.
“Alexa, play!” I shrieked as I ran down the stairs.
“The past has no bearing on your present. It exists as lessons to learn, nothing more...”
“Freakin’ hell, are you serious with this right now?” I yelled to the room. “Alexa, stop!”
I threw open the door. Damn, he looked good. Dark gray joggers, white T-shirt, tight in all the right places, and a pair of sneakers. He was like a walking, talking buffet of all my favorite man parts. Big biceps, wide chest, messy morning hair—he’d better not turn around or I might take a bite out of his ass.
“Good morning, heartbreaker.”
“Heartbreaker? Really?”
“The look on your face is ominous. You’re a walking, talking thundercloud, aren’t you? Heartbreaker seemed apropos. Perhaps even prophetic.”
I had to make him understand. “This isn’t going to work. I can’t be your friend—or anything else—when I can’t let anything go. I can’t try for more when I know we’ll end up breaking each other’s hearts again somehow. It’s too complicated.”
He held up a plastic bag filled with a bunch of that fancy glass storage container crap I kept meaning to buy. “I made breakfast, baby. Let me in. You look” —I glared at him, hard—“as gorgeous as ever, of course. And also, uh, like you might need what I brought you.” He held a travel mug under my nose. One sniff told me it was coffee. Good coffee. Score one for Nick.
Damn it.
I took it and turned toward my kitchen, leaving the door open. He could follow me inside, or not. I’d leave that up to him.
“Come in, if you want,” I tossed over my shoulder. “But know I can’t guarantee your safety. I woke up in a mood.”
“Hungover?” The door closed behind him, and I heaved out a sigh. I guess we were doing this.
I growled in answer as I swung open my fridge in search of my hazelnut creamer.
I could hear his smirk when he said, “I’d say I don’t want to fight with you, but it would be a lie. This is kind of fun.”
“Shut up,” I huffed. “You’re way too cheerful. It’s too early and I’m miserable. I’m trying not to be rude, but it’s impossible. I apologize in advance for every mean thing I will inevitably end up saying to you. I’ll only mean about one percent of it. Probably.”