Bang (Blast Brothers #2) - Sabrina Stark Page 0,95

an apology. Correction – multiple apologies. Even now, when I considered how I'd cussed him out on the roadside, I couldn't help but feel totally ridiculous.

A guy rescues you, and you yell at him? That wasn't exactly normal, was it?

I sighed. The sooner I got this out of the way, the sooner I could move past whatever I was feeling.

In the end, I didn't bother texting him back. I just hit the call button and waited for him to answer.

I didn't need to wait long. In fact, he answered so quickly, I couldn’t be certain that his phone had rung at all.

His voice was quiet in the night. "You called."

"Yeah, well, I figured we had to talk sometime."

"Good," he said. "Because I've got a question."

With my heart in my throat, I whispered, "Alright."

"Are you coming back?"

In spite of all my good intentions, disappointment coursed through me. "So you're asking if I quit?" I forced a laugh. "Maybe I should ask you if I’m fired."

"You're not."

"Alright. Then I don't quit." Whether for Willow's sake, or because I was a glutton for punishment, I was still determined to finish out my term.

If nothing else, it would look good on a resume – or at least that's what I kept telling myself whenever my resolve wavered, which it did. All the time.

Regardless, I'd be smart to stick it out. Mason Blastoviak was a household name. With his name on my resume, I'd almost certainly get a good job in the fall.

And then, I could be done with Mason for good.

The thought should've made me happy. And maybe it would've, if not for the ache in my heart when I considered the prospect of not seeing him again.

As far as Willow, I'd get to see her through Arden.

But Willow's oldest brother? Him, I'd be smart to avoid.

As my thoughts churned, Mason remained silent. Obviously, he was out of things to say, now that he'd gotten what he'd called for – news that he wouldn’t need to go nanny shopping any time soon.

Still, as long as I had him on the phone, I figured I might as well say what needed saying. "By the way, thanks for delivering my stuff, especially the purse. And I'm sorry for not thanking you sooner."

"Forget that."

"No. I mean it," I said. "I know you must've gone through a lot of trouble, and even though it wasn't for me personally—"

"You're wrong."

"What?"

"It was for you," he said. "And only you." With a rueful laugh, he said, "I doubt Willow wanted your clothes."

It wasn't just my clothes. It was Christmas presents for my family, all of my makeup and toiletries, my favorite pillow, and so much more. And to think, he'd even retrieved my purse from heaven-knows-where.

Even in good weather, that wouldn’t have been easy.

Still, I'd be foolish to assume anything about his intentions. Those days were gone. "Well, regardless, I really appreciate it."

Bracing myself, I continued. "And as long as we're talking, I'm really sorry for flipping out. I don't know what got into me. I mean, it's not exactly normal to cuss out your boss."

He was silent for a long moment before saying, "Your boss?"

"Yeah. My employer." I tried to laugh. "You know, the guy who signs my direct deposits? Anyway, I know I made a total fool of myself."

"That's not true."

He was wrong. Still, it was nice of him to say. I wanted to say something nice in return. But there was nothing I could say, not without making an even bigger fool of myself.

Into my silence, he said, "Cami?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not the fool. I am."

Oh, God. So now he was pulling out his own version of, "It's not you. It's me?"

How humiliating was this?

"Anyway," I said, "I just want to let you know it won't happen again. So you don't need to worry, alright?"

His voice was tender in the night. "I'm not worried."

Of course he wasn't. He wasn't the worrying type. But me? I was worried enough for both of us.

Soon, I'd be returning to work. Could I seriously get over him while living in the same house?

Yes. I could.

Hopefully.

And if I were smart, I decided, I'd end this conversation now, before I said something I shouldn't.

So, with as much dignity as I could muster, I said, "Alright. Then I guess I'll see you next year." And with that, I ended the call before he could, if only to keep from looking desperate.

Technically, "next year" was only a week away. Until then, I decided, I'd be smart to put