Free Heartsville 04 - Clique (Jayden Brooks) by Heartsville Page B

but decided against it. He needed to cool down, and frankly, I needed sleep.
    And that’s just what I did for the next eighteen hours straight.
     
    ***
     
    I wasn’t in the habit of requesting extensions on projects, but unless I took care of the workload problem now, my backlog was only going to get worse. It was time to reevaluate. Things couldn’t continue like this. I wanted to share a life. I was more than ready to work on building a forever with someone. Maybe a someone who wouldn’t give up and walk away over a misunderstanding.
    Grrr.
    “How understanding would I be if the situation was reversed?” Not very fucking much . Apparently I was destined to spend the day bickering with myself. On one hand, Brandon should have trusted me. On the other, would I have reacted any differently? My honest answer was yes. I would have reacted a whole lot worse.
    Okay, fine. But to walk away, like it was so easy to cast me aside—fuck that noise. I already felt shitty over the stupid situation. Him walking off that way hurt. And I didn’t like hurting any more than I liked how he hadn’t even tried to call or text me. In fact, it pissed me off.
    I stomped into my bedroom and dressed in the first thing I found on the floor. Yeah, the floor. Pissed-off people don’t stop for a nice shower and a loofah scrub. Nope, they clomp down stairwells, yank open doors, and send hostile glares at everyone who crosses their path. Well, at least that was how I handled it. When I sailed into Market Café and ordered a pumpkin latte, I lost some of my angsty thunder.
    But standing at the counter, I worked myself back up to a full steam.
    And then I saw him.
    I grabbed my latte, flew out the door, and called out, “Brandon.”
    He froze but didn't turn around.
    When I stood in front of him, his haggard expression shocked me silent of every angry word I’d been prepared to spew. “Jesus, are you okay?” I reached out to touch his arm, but he jerked back before I could make contact.
    It hurt. I hated it. But the man before me didn’t look like he’d been unaffected by recent events. It gave me the courage to push.
    “Um, can we talk? We can go to my place.”
    His head was shaking before I finished. So I pushed some more. “Please, Brandon.”
    Without a word, or even meeting my gaze, he turned, crossed the street, and headed toward Clique. I rushed to catch up but wisely kept quiet until I led us inside to my apartment.
    He took up a spot on the wall near the door and looked at me silently.
    And so I explained. And he listened.
    But when I was done, he simply asked, “Is that all?”
    Is that all? Like it wasn’t enough. As though my request for an acquittal had been denied. I needed to rattle his stoic countenance. “Okay, I get it. You’re not perfect.” If I had thought he was perfect before, he was certainly clearing up my misapprehension.
    For the first time since entering the apartment, his expression contained something other than passive disinterest. “What?”
    Since I finally had his attention, I just kept talking. “I understand why you were jealous, but it wasn’t what it looked like. You wouldn’t listen. And the way you just walked away, like I didn’t matter to you. It fucking hurt, Brandon.”
    “You don’t think it hurt me to walk in and find you in the middle of their make-out session?” he countered heatedly.
    I sighed. “I’m sure it did, and I’m sorry for that. I was too tired to see straight, and they took me off guard when they closed in on me. They didn’t put a hand on me, and I was edging out when you came in,” I explained again.
    His mutinous expression remained firm. This was getting us nowhere.
    “I want to be with you, Brandon. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “But if you can’t believe that….” I shrugged. “These guys are people I’m working with in a professional capacity. Yes, they’re attractive, but their appearance