Misunderstandings (Woodfalls Girls 2)

“How do you know? You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not directly, but I know your type.”

“My type?” he asked, ignoring the calls he was getting from the girls at the other table.

“Okay, let’s forget for a moment how you’re over here flirting with me while your fan club over there is cooling their heels waiting for you. I’m a little puzzled what they see in you, but the fact that they’re dumb enough to actually share you makes me believe you must be an out-of-work musician or something like that. Guitar player, right?”

He threw his head back, laughing loudly at my analysis. “Wrong on both. I couldn’t play an instrument to save my life. Not to mention, I’m pretty much tone-deaf. As for your first assumption, neither of them is my girlfriend. I met them at a party last night and agreed to meet up for coffee today. But enough about them. I’m curious to know why you came up with these assumptions?” he asked, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest while he casually crossed his ankles.

“Hmm, could it be the Barbie twins you’re stringing along? You may not think you’re dating them, but they sure think something is going on,” I said, deliberately cutting my eyes in their direction. “Or, it could be all the ink. Is it a fetish, or are you just blatantly seeking attention? Your whole persona screams misunderstood tortured soul. I’m guessing your parents ignored you and this is a vain attempt to get their attention,” I added with complete disinterest. A hint of what almost looked like disappointment flashed in his eyes but was gone in a second, convincing me I was imagining things.

“Are you one of those fortune-tellers?” he drawled. “Hey, what number am I thinking of? Kidding. What about you? Gotta be a psych major, right?” he asked, raising his pierced eyebrow, which I failed miserably at ignoring.

“Education,” I answered, holding up my Teaching in Diverse Populations book.

“And you moonlight as some kind of psychoanalyzer? Watching and judging everyone?” he asked.

I bristled at his description. I wasn’t some busybody who clucked her tongue judgmentally anytime someone did something I disagreed with. That was my mom’s thing. Not mine. Okay, so I liked to watch people, but that was different. It’s not like I ever said anything negative, at least out loud. God, was he right? Did occasionally thinking snarky thoughts while nosing into people’s business make me no different than my mom? It had to be different. Besides, who didn’t do that? Was there a sane person who could actually walk through Walmart without judging someone? I pondered these questions as Mr. Wet T-Shirt continued to eye me.

“I’m just observant,” I finally answered lamely. “So, if you’re not some misunderstood musician, what are you?”

“Like, what species? Well, when I was younger I pretty much assumed I was a monkey, but as I got a little older I was convinced either my parents were from another planet or I was. Recently, it’s come to my attention that I might also be part ass,” he answered cheekily.

“Funny,” I answered, sitting back in my chair.

“I’ll have to tell you what I am the next time I see you,” he answered, standing up as his blond companions called his name again in unison. “By the way, I’m Justin,” he said, holding out his hand.

I held out my own hand, reluctantly. “It’s been interesting.”

“What, you’re not even going to give me your name?”

“It’s not like we’ll be seeing each other again,” I answered, knowing I sounded like a total bitch. I didn’t see any point in encouraging something that was never going to happen.

“You never know. Maybe next time.”

“That all depends on how many girls are in your entourage. If there is a next time, which I highly doubt,” I pointed out, tugging at my hand, which was still clasped in his.

“Well, until then,” he said, giving my hand one last squeeze before releasing it. He strolled away from the table, not bothering to look back.

I could hear Barbie One and Two pouting about his absence as they headed in the opposite direction from where I was sitting. I didn’t turn around, even though for some insane reason I wanted to. I knew I’d never see him again, and most likely he’d forget about me before he even got to the next block. I might have come off as a total hag, but it was smart not to give in to the charms of some playboy. No matter how handsome he was. Yep, I’d definitely dodged a bullet.

3.

Present Day

11:18 AM

The air whistled from my lungs rapidly as I struggled to come to terms with seeing Justin. I knew I would be running into him eventually, but I was still unprepared for this sudden appearance. Yeah, we shared the same best friends. I just thought I would have more time to prepare myself. If Satan himself had popped up and said, “Welcome to hell,” I don’t think I would have been more shocked. It was bad enough I was riding in a steel death trap held up by tiny cables that supposedly could handle a certain weight, but I felt like a mouse dropped into a box with a snake. There was no escape from the one person I could honestly say hated me. I focused on keeping my breathing slow and steady to try to ease the sudden feeling that I would pass out.

I could feel Justin’s stare burning a hole in me as I worked to keep my eyes averted from his. I concentrated instead on finding the button for Rob’s floor, but they all seemed to blur together in a haze. Then I realized Justin had already pushed the button for the fifty-second floor. Of course he was going to see Rob. Why else would he be in this elevator at the same time as me? That asshole Rob. This was a setup. I was going to kill him. He knew how Justin felt about me, about our history. Did Rob think we would all show up to his office and make up and then head to lunch like nothing had ever happened? Justin had made his feelings quite clear two years ago. Even the passing of time and having lunch together wasn’t going to erase the past hurt or the words we had shared.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he bit out as I clutched the rail inside the elevator.

Bristling at his tone, I lashed out even though I knew I shouldn’t rise to the bait. “Why, do you own this building now? Did you suddenly become a self-made millionaire while I’ve been gone? Perhaps you finally grew some balls concerning your art,” I sniped out pointedly, looking at the newest tattoo on his neck. I knew it was a low blow, but I couldn’t have stopped the words if I tried.

“Huh, look who’s talking, sweetheart,” he drawled condescendingly.

I fought the urge to punch him and wipe the sarcastic look off his face. The injustice of the whole situation was total bullshit. He’d refused to ever own up to his part and instead let it tear us apart. I know what I did was awful, but he had set the wheels in motion. Not that I even needed to justify my actions. My decisions were mine to live with, but that didn’t mean the burden was mine to carry alone.