Me: And she’s now pissing herself, knowing she’ll have new baggage over losing out on someone she doesn’t deserve, but she’s hoping he’ll give her one more chance?

Me: Because she’s a lot more sane. Promise.

Me: Because she really is working on herself now and she’s just really hurting and sad, but she has love in her to give and she knows if you can just put up with the void inside of her that may never go away, she’s hoping you’ll deem her worthy enough for a second chance?

Me: I’m talking about me, by the way. Just making that clear, because talking in third person probably doesn’t help sell the whole ‘I’m more sane here’ premise.

Damn!

I sent another flurry of texts because I couldn’t stop myself.

Me: And beware with your rejection. I’m a reformed stalker, but the reform could be temporary.

Reese: Are.

Me: What would happen if a camel was born with three humps? Deformity or evolution?

I was faintly aware of Trent’s phone buzzing beside me. I kept on. I was committed now. Good luck on knowing when I’d stop.

Me: Thoughts on ending poaching worldwide?

Me: Rugby or football?

Me: American football or the real football?

Me: Favorite book? Besides your playbook.

Me: Why are manatees so cute?

Reese: You?!

Me: Who’d win in an ocean selfie contest? Dolphin or manatee?

Me: Seahorses don’t look anything like real horses. Discuss.

Me: Who really puts together the DSM? Do we actually need all those volumes?

Me: What do you think—

A hand rested over mine, stopping my text in mid-type.

“What?”

I was almost desperate to get these questions out, but Trent wasn’t looking at me. He nodded toward the front of our box. “Look.”

I did, my insides a hurricane, tsunami, and let’s throw in a few tornadoes. All were happening. All at once, and they were inflicting horrific damage, but there he was. Standing just at our entrance, his glasses still on and a firm scowl fixed on those so-kissable lips.

I held the phone up once more.

Me: Can you even see with those sunglasses?

He read the text, shaking his head, and I saw a crack. His top lip curved up, but it was flat the next second. He shoved his phone into his pocket, took mine, and grabbed my hand.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Trent tossed him a set of keys. Reese caught them, giving him a nod.

Then we were leaving.

Chapter Forty-Nine

He walked me down the hallway.

Hand in hand.

His face forward.

He wasn’t looking at me, and I couldn’t help myself. The texting had unleashed something in me.

“You had a girl on your lap.”