Page 78 of Shootout
What else did a guy need?
My heart answered that question.
Jessica.
What a crapfest I’d made of this. I should’ve declared my love and forced her hand. Instead, I’d crawled away and licked my wounds all weekend. My weakness disgusted me.
The doorbell rang, yanking me out of my head. The previous inhabitant of this condo had been a hockey fan, and the doorbell sounded like a goal horn. Somewhat obnoxious but definitely easy to hear.
Glumly, I sat there and made no move to answer the door. My cranky-assed self didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, not even Jessie. I’d known the dangers of falling in love, but as a friend once said, love has zero common sense.
The bastard at the door was insistent and continued to ring the bell. I picked up a puck sitting on the coffee table and threw it. Whoever was interrupting my solitude had to have heard it slam against the wooden door. They weren’t discouraged. Instead, they pounded so loudly I feared the neighbors would call the police.
“Dickhead, I know you’re in there. Open up!”
Wild.
I groaned. He was the last guy I wanted to see, but I knew him. The jerk wouldn’t go away until he said whatever it was he wanted to say; most likely, he’d rub my nose in my failure to keep Jessie happy.
Irritated and itching for a fight, I stalked to the door and wrenched it open.
Wild pushed past me, carrying a case of good craft beer. Slamming the door shut, I stomped after him into my living room.
“If you’ve come to kick my ass, don’t bother. Your sister did a good enough job of that.”
He held up the case. “Do ass kickers come bearing beer?”
I studied his face for some sign of smugness or triumph but saw none. If anything, concern flashed in his eyes. My anger faded, bringing back the despair.
“Not usually.” I slumped on the couch, and Wild sat on the opposite side.
He pulled a bottle opener from his pocket and popped the top off two bottles, handing one to me. “I thought you might need some company.”
“I was doing just fine by myself.”
“Sure as fuck you were.” He glanced around the room littered with pizza boxes, beer cans, and dirty plates.
“Fine, hit me with your best shot. Enjoy yourself. You can’t make me feel any worse than I do right now.”
Wild took a long pull of his beer, sat back, and watched me with a deeply thoughtful expression. I had not one clue what he was thinking. “I’d rather have you around than that dickhead.”
His words almost made me feel better. “Really? So I was the best of the worst?”
“Something like that. You were growing on me like a daily ice bath. You don’t enjoy it, but it has its purposes.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly and almost smiled.
We drank in silence for a few minutes. As soon as I finished my beer, he handed me another.
“Are you trying to get me shit-faced?”
“I figure the occasion calls for it.”
A few beers later, my tongue loosened considerably. “I was going to tell your sister I loved her on the very night that asshole showed up.”
Wild nodded sagely. “I knew you’d fallen for her.”
I stared at him, confused. As far as he knew, I’d fallen for her long ago.
