Hard Love (Trophy Boyfriends #3) - Sara Ney Page 0,93
one.
But things are different now.
I’d started to have a bit of hope that I wasn’t a complete social idiot after all. Was beginning to wonder if I had what it took to be a good partner to the right person.
Boy was I wrong.
I let the line go silent until my brother couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Tripp—are you saying you want one?”
“What difference does it make? Chandler hates me now.”
“So? Hollis hated me too but she got over it.”
“She did?”
“I mean, no. But I definitely annoyed the shit out of her. You just can’t give up because of one bad night.”
“I’m not going to hound her.”
“Since when are the Wallaces a bunch of quitters?”
“I’m not quitting! I’m giving her space.”
“Space is for astronauts, and the last time I checked, you suck at science.”
“Oh my god. You’re such an idiot.”
My brother laughed, unperturbed. “There you go, that’s the fighting spirit.”
“Is that your advice? Don’t be a quitter?”
“Pretty much.”
“Could you elaborate? You know I’m not any good at this shit.”
“Yeah—no. I can ask Hollis about it and get back to you?”
“No!” I shouted. “No, don’t do that. I can figure it out, I just need a little time.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.”
“I will.”
But I didn’t because the idea of calling him back and speaking to his wife felt weird. Asking for help isn’t in my wheelhouse and I’m not starting today with a relationship problem, especially with someone related to the quandary.
I need a game plan.
I need…
“Hey Mr. W. Is everything alright?”
Not the neighbor girl.
Fuck.
Why the hell did I agree to let Molly walk Chewy this morning when I’m not in the mood for company or conversation?
Because I wasn’t in the mood to go gallivanting around the block either.
It’s the morning after my argument with Chandler and I’m still not over it yet.
No, everything is not alright. “Why would you think something was wrong?”
“Uh—because it’s like nine AM and you’re eating popcorn for breakfast?”
I grumble. “The leftover pizza was gone.”
“You’re moodier than usual.” Molly walks all the way into the living room, invading my space as per usual, dropping Chewy’s leash so he can come say hello.
I scratch him behind the ears but offer no kind words. Don’t get him riled up, don’t pick him up and cradle him like a baby.
“Hey bud” is all I say to the dog, because apparently I’m moodier than usual.
“What’s wrong?” Molly wants to know.
“Nothing.”
She laughs. “Nothing? That’s what my mom always tells my dad when she’s mad at him—and she’ll do it in this really weird way, like she’s daring him to drop the subject and walk away. Nothing always means something.”
I mull this information over. She’s not wrong.
Clearly I’m in a foul mood, but am I going to share that with her? No.
“Does this have anything to do with Chandler?”
Yes. “Pfft, no.”
“I think you’re lying.”
Just what I need, Molly calling me a liar, too. As if the weekend couldn’t get shittier, I’m getting dumped on by a child.
“I think you need to mind your own business.”
Never one to back down from my surly mood, she presses on in true Molly fashion. “Know what I think it is?”
“No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“I think you went to Chandler’s last night after your game, got into a fight, then came home.”
Um, how does she know that? “Why would you think that?”
“Easy—you came home about two hours after your game ended, parked in the driveway for about ten minutes, let the dog out, then left. Less than an hour later you were back—deductive reasoning tells me you weren’t out grabbing snacks at midnight.” She pauses to take a breath. “So what happened?”
I am not getting into this with her.
I’m not.
“Let me guess.”
“Please don’t.” Seriously. Not in the mood. “I will pay you to go away.”
“You already pay me.”
“I’ll give you fifty bucks to go home right now.”
Molly shrugs, uninterested in the bribe. “All that tells me is I’m right.”
What a little shit.
“Did you say something to make her mad or did she say something to make you mad?”
Neither. It was my mother drudging up old news and rekindling an old fire.
I silently stuff more popcorn in my mouth for the sole purpose of chewing. Chewing = cannot talk.
“Blink once if this is because you didn’t tell her how you feel.”
I blink once, but not on purpose. “Fuck. That was not my answer.”
Molly laughs, giving the dog belly rubs. “I think it was.”