Page 37 of The One I Didn't See Coming

“Neither one you have to stay. We’re about to sell out.” She places them in the display case. “Last dozen.”

Groans ring out in the storefront. One person tells the person behind them, and quickly, the line outside disperses, people looking pissed off as they leave.

“Good, we’re going to lunch then,” I say.

Gillian stops checking out Mr. Torres and glares at me.

“I can’t fuck her on the table in the middle of the restaurant. It’s lunch.”

Gillian looks away from me, finishing the sale with Mr. Torres.

“Don’t talk like that in my store,” Laurel reprimands me.

Mrs. VanKamp just gave me that look I got when I was in trouble in kindergarten. Not much has changed.

“Sorry. Don’t worry, I’ll drop off the goods to Lottie before we grab something to eat.”

“Now that we’re sold out, Gillian can drop them off.” Laurel puts her hand on Gillian’s shoulder.

“I just made your favorite, Briar. Chicken pot pies. No need to go out to lunch—come over to our house,” Gillian says.

Laurel blows out a breath and runs her hand down Briar’s arm as if she’s consoling her.

“Sorry, Gill, but Emmett brought up cheeseburger pizza, and I haven’t had it since I returned. I think I’d like to go there,” Briar says.

Gillian hands the change to Mr. Torres and turns to us, her hip resting on the counter and her arms crossed.

“Let them go, Gill,” Laurel says. “I’ll come over for some pot pies.”

“Go on then,” Gillian says, clearly not pleased.

You don’t have to tell me twice. I’m on my way to the door before I realize Briar isn’t with me. She’s hugging Gillian and whispering something to her. She finally joins me, and we make our way inside the truck.

“Why is she so worried about something happening between us?” I start the truck.

I talked with Gillian and understood her worry, but it’s a little extreme that she thinks I have zero control over my dick.

Briar shrugs. “You have a reputation. She knows about Chad. Not everything, but that he hurt me.”

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. So, the douchebag has a name.

“Hurt you?” I try to keep my voice even-keeled, but if he hit her, I’ll be showing up at every damn door in Chicago that has someone named Chad living there until I find him.

“Heartbreak. I loved him, or so I thought. Can we just go?”

I pull out of the parking spot and head toward By The Slice. “So, what do you think my reputation is?” At the stoplight, I glance over to see her shrug.

“I haven’t lived here in a long time, but when I did, you were always with a girl, and I don’t mean dating.”

“Yeah…” I don’t finish my sentence. The part of me who hooks up is a complicated part that even I don’t fully understand. Mostly because I don’t like to psychoanalyze myself and how fucked up it is that I can’t have a normal relationship like my brothers.

“Care to elaborate?” she asks.

“As soon as you do.” I side-eye her, and she turns toward the window.

“I’m starving. How much longer?”

I laugh because we’re both messed up, and neither one of us wants to address our issues. And that works perfectly for me.

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