by Tess Oliver
I parked the car next to the curb and stared down at my phone. She hadn't tried to call or text to explain herself. Not that there was much to explain. She was holding the hand of the package delivery guy, and there was a gold box of chocolates on the counter, sitting on a nest of brown packing paper. Guess the rose mystery had been cleared up.
It was seven in the evening. Tank's was crowded. I wasn't even sure I was in the mood to talk to Dray. He was going to do his usual twenty question routine once he saw I was pissed. My friends had seen me go through this more than once with Taylor. I just wasn't ready for the humiliation again. Especially when they all knew I had planned to propose to Taylor. Double humiliation. Double kick in the ass. Double heartbreak.
The tight feeling in my chest intensified as I came to the conclusion that maybe she just never cared that much in the first place. I'd always felt pretty damn confident that we were destined to be together. She seemed just as crazy about me as she'd been back when she followed me around like a lovesick teenager, and my love for her had grown so intense I couldn't see myself with anyone else. But my confidence in our happy ending was starting to crumble.
I climbed out of the car. If nothing else I badly needed to hit something. I decided to put on my best poker face. I wasn't in the mood to talk about it.
The sour smell of sweat caked my nostrils the second I walked inside. Two fight trainers were helping out in the octagon and it seemed every corner of the gym was filled with activity. Dray was busy spotting some guy in the weight room so I lumbered across the floor, hoping to get to the locker room without him noticing me. But six foot six made that a hard fucking task.
"Bro! I didn't know you were coming to work out tonight," Dray called from the doorway of the weight room. He raised a finger. "Hold on. I just need to spot this guy."
I didn't hold on like he asked and, instead, headed straight into the locker room. One of the perks of having a best friend manage the gym was my own private locker. Dray had assigned one for each of us at the end of the row.
I was in the middle of changing my clothes when Dray walked up behind me. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Dray asked as he straddled the bench. "You don't usually like to come when it's crowded."
"Should I leave?"
Dray held up his hands. "Uh oh, I see someone's in a bad mood. I'll just let you get to your workout. Just don't throw any weights through the walls."
"I'll try not to." I leaned down to tie my shoes. I could feel him hovering over me like an annoying little gnat. I didn't have to look up to know what he was thinking. "No, I don't want to talk about it, Dray. So shove off."
"Right. Shoving off. But if you need to talk—you know I'm here to give you unwanted, unhelpful and annoying advice." He walked out of the locker room.
I tossed my clothes and my phone into the locker and headed straight to the weight room. Something told me I was going to be bench pressing twice my usual weight tonight.
Ten
Taylor
I stabbed my fork into the half-wilted kale and broccoli salad I'd bought from the market. I'd spent a good ten minutes debating whether I should skip the salad and just dive into a vat of Ben and Jerry's for the night. Seemed I'd made the wrong decision. I dropped the fork, knowing full well I couldn't eat a bite. One moment my entire body ached with cold, dreary anguish, and the next, I felt on edge with white hot anger.
Let cooler heads prevail. It was an idiom I'd heard my dad use more than once, and for some reason, the words kept replaying in my head as if they were on a continuous loop. I supposed it was my way of reminding myself to keep calm about the whole incident. I was determined to be the more mature person this time.
I got up and tossed my food into the trash. It was halfway to the salad graveyard anyhow. I was exhausted from a long day at work, but I knew I wasn't going to get much sleep. I'd calmed down from my earlier rage at being completely misjudged, without any chance for explanation. I determined my cooler head was, indeed, prevailing.
I had no plans to discuss anything over the phone or through long, angry texts. If he was at home, I would drive over to see him. I'd let him know that he'd jumped to a horrible, stupid conclusion. He needed to understand that I was hurt by his reaction and that he owed me a big apology.
I picked up my phone and sent off a quick text. "Where are you at? I think we need to talk." I put down the phone and walked into the restroom to wash my face. Between my moments of disbelief and anger, I'd allowed myself a few good tears. I was under a ton of stress with the bridal wear contract, but instead of support from my significant other, I was getting grief. Grief I didn't deserve. It was a little too much to swallow at a time when I really needed him.
I rinsed my face and cleaned off my makeup. I wasn't in any mood to get pretty and shiny for the man. I just needed to have a few straight words with him and let him know how badly he’d disappointed me with his unfounded reaction.
I walked back out and picked up the phone. Clutch was always quick to respond to my texts. There was no response, only his last harsh text sitting there to remind me of the whole ugly event.
I smacked the phone on the table and went into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of orange juice. My ear was turned toward it as I waited for the familiar ping to let me know I'd gotten a text. Just as I placed the juice carton back in the refrigerator, the phone rang.
I took a deep breath and stared at it as it vibrated on the table top. I hadn't planned on talking to him yet. I'd wanted to talk to him face to face, but maybe this was better. I was feeling pretty confident by the time I reached the phone.
It was Cassie.
"Hey, Cassie," I answered weakly.
"Uh oh, anything wrong?"
All my confidence and cool headedness went out the window. I immediately broke into sobs. "Clutch is such an ass. My week has been so long, and I've been working so hard. Then the delivery guy comes in—" I gulped in some air. "And he somehow got it into his mind that I had a thing for him. Or maybe he didn't care if I had a thing for him because, apparently, he had enough affection for the both of us. And stupidly, I felt bad for him and I put my hand on his because, well, I was trying not to be a bitch because I don't know how you can avoid sounding mean when you have to tell someone that you have no interest in them at all. Then that giant, short tempered, quick to judge ass walks up to the shop and sees me touching the guy's hand and he stomps off in his angry Viking temper fit." I swallowed more air and added a long sniffle. "Now he's not answering my text." More sniffles.
Cassie hesitated for a moment, probably more to decipher what I'd just spit through the phone at her than to let me recover from my sobs.
"All right. If I'm understanding you—and it's a little jumbled in my mind—but the delivery guy likes you and you were being polite and trying to let him down easy. Clutch saw the whole thing and completely misinterpreted what he saw. And being Clutch, he got pissed."
I took a deep, trembling breath. "Once again you've proved you are a true genius, Cassie. I wasn't on the receiving end of my rant, but from this side, it sounded pretty damn confusing. What should I do, Cass? I think he owes me an apology. Am I wrong?"
"You're not wrong. He jumped to conclusions without even giving you a chance. Just talk to him. I'm sure he'll understand and let you know he's sorry. Clutch can be a gruff dude sometimes, but he will admit when he's wrong."
"I'm sure you're right. I was planning to drive over to his house to talk to him, but he seems to be ignoring my texts. I guess he might have gone out to drink beers or play pool or something. I have no doubt he's in a bad mood." My voice wavered again. "Or maybe he's in a good mood because he's decided he's free of pesky, little Taylor."
"Oh sweetie, that's not the case at all. I mean just a few weeks ago on your birthday—"
She stopped her end of the conversation so abruptly I pulled the phone from my ear to see if the call had failed. It hadn't.
"My birthday?" I prodded.
"Nothing. I
mean, he was just so excited about your business deal and everything." Cassie sounded uncharacteristically flustered. "That's all. Everyone knows Clutch is crazy about you." I could hear her take a sip of something. "Sorry, throat's dry." Cassie rarely wavered from straight forward honesty. If you wanted a solid, no bullshit opinion from someone, you went to Cassie. Something had definitely thrown her off her sure-footed stride. "Hey, I'll give Dray a call to see if we can find out where the big guy ended up with his tantrum. Seems like both of you have had enough time to think this out."
My phone beeped, letting me know I had another call, which was probably for the best because the current conversation had gone from me steeped in heartbreak to feeling a breath of relief to complete confusion. Cassie was hiding something. I knew Dray told Cassie everything, even shit the guys talked about. Cassie's strange tone had me worried.
My phone beeped again. "I've got to go, Cass. I'll talk to you later."
I hadn't looked to see who was calling. My stomach knotted at the idea that it might be Clutch on the other end. After the unsettling conversation with Cassie, I wasn't ready to talk to him. But hanging up would only exacerbate things. It was time to tell him he'd been wrong.
"Hello." I had to work hard to hide the waver in my voice.
"Ms. Flinn, this is Hannah Bauer from Bridal World."
"Oh yes, hello, Ms. Bauer." It took me a moment to switch to my business tone. I couldn't decide whether I was relieved or disappointed at not hearing Clutch's voice on the other end. But I didn't have time to contemplate it. "How are you?"
"Very well, thank you. My assistants and I were just going over some of the changes on the summer collection."
I decided a walk around the apartment would calm my earlier case of nerves. I wanted to make sure I sounded confident. When I met with the buyers and executives at Bridal World, they were all taken aback by my youth. I managed to give a solid enough impression that I left the meeting feeling as if I'd won them over. I didn't want to blow it.
"Yes, of course. Were they acceptable?"
"Actually, we've decided that the summer collection is just a little too California. So much of our June and July wedding market is in the Midwest. If you could come up with a few samples that work a little better for that region of the country that would be fabulous. Could we expect them by next Friday? We'll be talking with our fabric buyer next week, and we need to know how much to order."
My pacing had come to a sharp halt. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what you mean by too California. The dresses are simple. They are meant to keep a bride cool in hot summer months. They are neutral enough to allow for any kind of ornamentation. So the bride can project her own style, whether it's a little bit country, a little bit funky, or even a little bit racy."
"Well, I have every confidence that you'll figure out exactly how to make this a stand out collection. So Friday?" She completely ignored my comments. Typical business big shot who thought she knew everything and expected results at a snap of her fingers. One big problem—recreated designs by Friday was going to take more than a snap of fingers. It was going to take me working twenty hour days. Even then, I saw no way to finish or put in the usual quality I strived for in my dress designs.
I hesitated and seriously considered saying no, but this was too big of an opportunity to pass up. If I let this opportunity slip away, it would prove to everyone, my friends, my parents . . . and Clutch that I wasn't ready for anything this big yet.
"Certainly. Friday. I'll see what I can do to make them less California." I added an eye roll on my side of the conversation, deciding the lady was obviously a loon. We finished with the standard niceties and hung up.
I was still reeling from the conversation and the stark reality that I had a huge, near impossible project ahead of me, when Cassie's text popped through.
"Talked to Dray. He said Clutch is working out at Tank's. Let him know that he was wrong. He'll understand."
I texted back. "Thanks."
I stared down at her message. He'll understand. Something about the words just rubbed me wrong. I was the one who needed to understand. I needed to know why he’d jumped so quickly to such an ugly conclusion without even talking to me first. I'd been working hard to gain his trust. Just like my too California-ish designs, it had all been a waste of time and effort.
With this new development from Bridal World, having to worry about Clutch and his sour mood and ridiculous assumptions was the last thing I needed. I was at a time in my life when I needed his support and friendship more than ever. But it was lacking big time.
To hell with a cooler head. I marched to my room to grab my sweatshirt. I was going to Tank's Gym. I had no idea what I was going to say once I got there, but that didn't matter. I just needed to let Clutch know that he'd let me down.
Eleven
Clutch
I'd finished taping my hands. My arms were tired from weightlifting, but I still needed a round with the punching bags. Working out alone had helped me cool off, which, in turn, had helped clear my head. I wasn't sure what the hell had been going on in Taylor's shop tonight, but walking away and then accusing her without hearing the details had been a stupid reaction. Something I was good at. I always let my heart lead when it came to Taylor. My head worked great in business but when it came to my relationship, my brain was mush most of the time. Taylor was passionate and unpredictable and impulsive. The complete opposite of me. It was what I loved most about her. She made my head spin, so it was easy to lose my focus with her.
And there I was, blaming Taylor again.
I wiped my face and as I lowered my towel, Dray was standing right in front of me with a weird look on his face.
"What's with the goofy grin?" I tossed the towel onto the bench.
"Well"—he glanced across the gym and then back to me—"so . . . Cassie called earlier and asked if I knew where you were. She said Taylor was upset about something."
I put up my hand. "I don't want to talk about it now. I'm going to finish my workout."
He followed me to the punching bag. "Yeah, I got that. But when Cassie called, I told her you were here, at Tank's."
I stared at him around the bag. "O.K. . . . Thanks?"
"You're welcome, I think. So, it's all right that Cass let Taylor know you were here? Even though she sounded kind of upset and, as Cassie mentioned, pissed on the phone?"
"It's fine."
"Good to hear. Because Taylor's here. And she definitely looks pissed."
I moved my face to look past the punching bag. Taylor was walking with a purposeful stride through the gym, bringing several workouts and a practice fight to a quick halt as she marched between the men on the floor.
"Shit. Not here, damnit," I muttered to myself.
Dray bowed his head. "I shall leave you two alone. It seems she has a little something on her mind." He pointed behind him as he backed away. "I'll be in my office if you need a shoulder to cry on. Oh, and don't hurt the punching bag. They're expensive." He dashed off and said a quick hello to Taylor on his way past.
I stepped out from behind the bag. Taylor's eyes were red from crying. Her fingers were curled into fists as she marched toward me.
"I don't want to do this here," I managed to get out my sentence before she pummeled my chest.
"There is no this." She bit her lip, which I knew signaled that she was about to cry.
I stood without saying another word, waiting for her to finish.
She swallowed hard. "Damn it, why do I always have to fucking cry?" She smacked my chest again. "And why does it hurt like hell when I hit you, you stupid brick wall?"
I opened my mouth, but she stopped me by pointing her finger and shaking her head no. "Stop. I just sat in shitty traffic for thirty minutes to talk to you, so I'm going to say what's on my mind. You jumped to all the wrong conclusions today, and I didn't deserve it." She sucked in a wavering breath. "And if I ramble, too fucking bad. I'm upset. At you, at Bridal World, at the stupid delusional deliver
y guy, at the whole fucking world right now, so shut up and listen. On my way over here, I realized that I could have been in trouble tonight. That man you saw me trying to comfort was the guy who sent the roses. I had no idea he had feelings for me, but apparently he does. I was alone in my shop with him and there were a few seconds there where he bordered on stalkerdom. I don't know if that's a word but it should be. Then I heard your car outside and felt immediately safe because I knew my giant, super hulk of a boyfriend would be walking in any second. And you see this scene inside the shop and immediately decide I'm up to something. Not that I might possibly be in trouble." A sob shook her shoulders. Her words felt like a fist to my stomach. I'd walked away without even considering she needed me. Fuck. What if something had happened and I'd left her alone?
"Taylor, I'm sorry. I thought you—"
"I know what you thought, and fuck you for thinking it!"
Obviously, simple apologies weren't going to work in this situation. Her eyes filled with tears and my heart sank in my chest. It seemed she wasn't going to forgive me easily this time. I couldn't blame her.
We'd managed to attract a wide audience, but I didn't care. I would keep my mouth shut and let her finish, so I could take her somewhere quiet and apologize. Or at least that was what my mind was saying. But it was Taylor, and all my rational thoughts were getting buried by emotion.
"I haven't done anything to deserve your mistrust."
