Misunderstandings (Woodfalls Girls 2)

“It was good, except I don’t know why girls come to me about clothing or costume questions now that they know I’m gay. It’s not some kind of prerequisite that all gay guys are into fashion and clothes,” he griped.

“Welcome to stereotypes,” Justin said. “Remember when I was in high school and everyone assumed my friend Mitch would be an excellent basketball player because he was like a six-foot-three giant? He couldn’t run and dribble at the same time if his life depended on it. Hey, even Brittni has been known to put people in stereotypical bubbles,” he added, smirking at me.

“Guilty,” I shrugged.

“Like what?” Travis asked, looking at me with interest.

“I assumed that a guy who is tattooed up and was flirting outrageously with two girls at once must be a player,” I answered dryly.

“Seriously, bro? Two chicks at once? That’s so not cool,” Travis said, polishing off his spaghetti.

“Shame on you, son,” Trish said, clucking her tongue.

“Not cool at all,” Hollie added, shaking her head.

“Hey, put down your pitchforks. What makes you think she’s talking about me?” Justin asked, trying to look innocent as he held up his palms.

“Um, gee, I don’t know who she could be talking about—duh. Besides, she’s got you on the one thing. You are a terrible flirt,” Travis mocked.

“See, like I said,” I crowed triumphantly.

“I’m so glad I have my own family on my side. Thanks for the love,” Justin said, standing up from the table.

“Don’t leave mad, just leave,” Travis joked.

“You’re hilarious,” Justin said, holding out a hand for me.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Avery, I mean, Trish,” I said, standing also.

“Anytime, Brittni. It’s nice to see Justin with someone who has her own mind,” she answered warmly. “Now, we’ll be seeing you Thursday for Thanksgiving, right?”

“Are you sure?” I asked. I wasn’t overly excited about crashing their family holiday.

“I won’t take no for an answer. Justin will pick you up by noon,” she said, leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, surrendering.

13.

Present Day

1:48 PM

It was official. They were deliberately toying with us. More than two hours had passed and we were still stuck. Since his last outburst forty-five minutes ago, the only words Justin had spoken were through the elevator phone.

“How much longer are we going to have to cool our heels in here while you dick around with this elevator?”

I could hear the woman’s unruffled voice, assuring him that it was being worked on as quickly as possible. She’d inquired about our health and well-being, and once Justin informed her we were still alive, we got the same advice we’d received for the past two hours—to sit tight.

Justin slammed down the phone and resumed his stony silence. My iPhone was clinging to life with less than ten percent battery left. I couldn’t decide if my phone dying would be a blessing or a curse. I was driving myself nuts checking the slow-moving time so often. Then again, with nothing but Mr. Stone Wall over there, I might go stir-crazy.

Unable to handle sitting there doing nothing, I emptied the contents of my oversized bag onto the floor. It had been ages since my purse had a good purge. A bottle of water rolled across the floor, stopping near Justin’s foot. Ignoring his stare, I grabbed the bottle and set it on end so it wouldn’t roll away again. I methodically sorted through months of old movie ticket stubs, receipts, and loose change that for some reason never made it to the small change purse that I also found among the other items. I hit the jackpot when I discovered a mini package of peanut M&Ms one of my students had given me before I left and a handful of peppermints I had snagged from my boss’s office last week. At the bottom of my bag, I also found a couple of ideas that I had jotted down on a Post-it for my friend Ashton. She was relatively new to Woodfalls, but Tressa and I had hit it off with her right away. Her only quirk was the crazy bucket list of things she wanted to do. It seemed odd, but she said it was research for a thesis paper. Tressa and I suspected there was more to it than that. Of course, Tressa’s idea that maybe Ashton was some kind of closet adrenaline junkie was different from my theory. My suspicion was that the list was because of something much more serious. I hoped to God I was wrong.

“Why do girls carry so much shit in their bags?” Justin asked, taking in the piles of stuff I had sorted in front of me.

“Oh, hi. Are you talking to me again?” I asked sarcastically. I was sick of him treating me like a yo-yo. One minute he was cordial enough to hold a conversation with, and the next he was a raving lunatic.

“I don’t know. I’m trying here, okay?” he said, running his hand through his hair.