confused customer. “Come back in next week, and I’ll set you up for a custom of any size at a forty percent discount, okay?”
The customer smiled like he’d won the lottery and gave Reagan a thumbs-up. Reagan missed it, too busy staring at me. “You, office. Now.”
Fuck.
How was I thirty-three years old, and it felt like I’d been called into the principal’s office? When I got inside, Reagan barely waited for the door to be shut before he lit into me.
“I have a feeling you’re about to give me an ultra-lame reason why you won’t consider dating Gordo.”
My skin felt hot and too tight. “He has a b-baby girl. S...s-she’s his world. I c-c-can’t be a part of that, not like that!”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I’m n-not good with families,” I said, hedging. My heart hammered in my chest.
He grunted. “Not good with families? We’re a fucking family here, and you’re great. Did you not want kids?”
Oh, I wanted them. I knew I did because of how quickly I had to shut down any time I started to dream about being able to have them—it hurt too much, knowing it would never happen. “It isn’t b-because of Gi-gi-Giuliana. She’s p-perfect.”
“Gordo’s a secret asshole, then?”
“N-n-no—” The stuttering was starting to take over as panic swarmed in on me.
“So you can’t date a nice, good-looking guy with a perfect daughter because of what exactly?”
It bubbled up on its own, before I could stop it. A lifetime of self-hatred and doubt that had been validated by all the doors slammed in my face. “I’m n-not g-good enough for him! S-something’s wrong with me, Reagan, and if I d-d-date him, Gordo will s...s-see it!”
Hearing it said out loud—even though I was the one who said it—hurt almost more than thinking it, and without pause, I turned and punched the wall just hard enough to hurt a bit. The burn and sting across my knuckles helped focus me. Not for long, though, because when I turned back around, Reagan had moved to stand right in front of me.
When he grabbed my shoulders, my gaze dropped submissively to the floor, so he let go and cupped my face in his hands instead, forcing me to look at him.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Do you think I am a complete imbecile?”
I was shaking. “N-no.” And I didn’t. Reagan was a man with a heart of gold and a sharp mind.
“Do you trust me?”
“W-with my life.” It was true.
“Then listen to me—and I don’t ever, ever want to have this conversation again. You are smart, Javi. This event? It was your baby, and look how much good it’s doing. You’re an unbelievable artist who makes me fucking proud to have in my shop. You’re loyal. You’re observant. You make clients see what they want before they knew it themselves.
“You make me laugh and you make me think and you are like family to me. You are so goddamn special and amazing and anyone would be lucky to have your love. Do you get that? Your love would be a gift.”
He released my face and I leaned against the wall, scarcely able to hold myself up anymore.
Reagan wasn’t finished. He poked a finger in my sternum, right over the shield. “If you think there could be more between you and the man who volunteered to get you your fancy-ass pizza, then go after it, Javi. Fight for it. Open your heart for once and let some love in, because you deserve it.”
Then Reagan left me there, door slamming on his way out. I slid down the wall until I was crouched, knees tucked like it could prevent my heart from spilling out of me. Because that’s what it was threatening, to just leave my body and melt into a puddle, overloaded by too much—too much—
I couldn’t bear to even think it.
No one tells you that love can hurt so, so much more than loneliness. Reagan had just showered me in love when I hadn’t been prepared for it. And now I was in danger of believing him.
Of thinking that maybe Reagan was right.
And if he was, what would that mean for me and Gordo?
15
Gordo
I was waiting at the restaurant for Javi’s pizza to finish baking when my phone began pinging me with an incoming onslaught of text messages. Worried it was Mason and something was wrong, I checked it, only to wish I hadn’t. Kyle again.