Loner by Harloe Rae Page 0,40

what we did to the darkest recesses of my mind. I’ve been avoiding Josey almost as much as the stupid asshole responsible for this fiasco. She’s been texting me nonstop about him since we left the bar together. Appeasing her with tiny morsels has postponed the inevitable, and I’ve stayed away from our typical meeting spots to avoid confrontation of the spilling-juicy-details variety. One look at me and she’ll be able to tell exactly what’s on my filthy mind. So many dirty images.

Avoiding her forever isn’t an option, though. Which is exactly why I’m parallel parking in front of our favorite coffee shop. While smoothing down my hair, I repeat a few proactive mentality boosters.

This is just another day in my office.

Josey will never suspect a thing is out of place.

I’m a boss bitch.

If all goes to shit, I’ll hide in the bathroom until she relents.

I slide into that mindset and strut into Steeped. Josey is waiting for me at our regular table along the far wall in the corner. A steamy cup of what I assume is hazelnut vanilla latte is waiting in front of an open chair. Either she’s buttering me up or feels guilty for hounding me. A slight ache pinches my chest. I should be the one treating her after all the ghosting this week. She follows my slinking stride as I move toward her.

“Hey, you. Thanks for ordering.” I plop my butt into the cushioned seat, pick up the mug, and inhale a greedy whiff. “Smells like heaven.”

Josey gives me a lopsided smile. “Figured you’d need it after spending days hiding.”

I try not to flinch. “I deserve that.”

“You do, but I get it. We all recover at different speeds.” She pauses, probably waiting for me to fill in the blanks. I don’t take the bait. “How’s Millie?”

“Good, I think. She misses you.”

“I miss her more. Is she ready for summer?”

“Big time. I think she’s done being in first grade.”

My friend laughs. “Doesn’t surprise me. She’s always been ahead of the curve.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

Josey shrugs. “Don’t stress, mama hen. Your little chick will spread her wings soon enough.”

“Chickens don’t fly.”

“So? They still need to leave the nest.”

“Good point.”

“Anyway, I’m glad you finally showed.”

“Being cooped up at home isn’t quite the same.” I start unpacking all of the daily essentials. Once my laptop is flipped open and the screen flashes on, I feel prepared to face any hurdles heading for me. My shield is locked and loaded.

“Sitting at a café by yourself isn’t that great either,” she mutters.

I don’t bother hiding my wince. “I’m sorry, Joe.”

She scoffs. “It’s fine. We’re all good.”

My nod is slow. Based on the knot twisting my belly into a solid mass, I’m not entirely sure she means that. But the tension between us wanes with each passing beat. I blow out a long exhale and begin scrolling through my email.

So far, all seems normal. We get settled into our routines with little fanfare. But the calm is almost deceptive. We’re busy working, focusing on our respective devices, but there’s a tension in the coffee-scented air.

Josey squirms in her seat, nearly tipping a plate off the table. I quirk a brow, but otherwise manage to ignore her movements. She taps a pen on her mouse, the clacking going straight to my temple. Humming is her next choice of irritant. Is she doing this on purpose? Maybe this is how she’s been adapting in my extended absence. Drawing attention will only open the door to more questions. I narrow my eyes on a detailed list from my client, but the words are blurring.

A loud huff breaks our terse silence. “So! Ford Doxe.”

I can’t help but grin while checking the clock. It only took three minutes. “What about him?”

She tips her chin and quirks a brow, giving me that disgruntled look I know so well. “As if I wasn’t going to bring him up. Count your blessings that I gave you this long of a reprieve.”

I let my smile spread. “I appreciate your patience and discretion.”

“Don’t even try pretending that we’re not discussing Saturday night, and probably Sunday morning, at great length.” She holds up both hands, putting a few feet of space between them. I release a loud snort at her humorous generosity. Yeah, in his dreams.

I twirl a curled tendril of hair around my finger. “Um, nice try.”

“Give me the dirt or I’ll march my ass to Iron Throttle. Getting the truth from the other guilty party shouldn’t be too