Crap.Fuck.
Yeah, now he was feeling like crap. He could practically feel her embarrassment coming down the phone.
Gray:No card?
Maeve:No. They’re probably not even for me. They were likely put outside the wrong door. I feel stupid.
Gray frowned.He didn’t like that. She shouldn’t feel stupid.
Gray:Don’t be starting that, girl. You aren’t stupid.
Maeve:Just because you say something doesn’t make it true.
Pfft.What little she knew.
Gray:Does if I say it does.
Maeve:Does your neck ever get tired?
Gray:Huh?
Maeve:Carrying around that giant head.
Gray:Girl.
Maeve:Sorry for bothering you.
He didn’t like that.At all. But he didn’t know what to say to her. He also didn’t like the idea of someone sending her flowers. But maybe she was right and they were for someone else. Five minutes later, he sent her back a text.
Gray:You’re never a bother.
15
Maeve stared down at Gray’s last text for about the hundredth time. It was Thursday afternoon, and she was on the bus, heading home.
She didn’t know what to make of his text.
Did he really mean that? That she wasn’t a bother? Because she was fairly certain that wasn’t true.
She was sure she was a bother.
Maybe he just had to say that. Perhaps he felt bad because she’d made such a fool of herself yesterday when she’d assumed those flowers were from him.
She couldn’t believe she’d thought that he had sent her flowers. Of course they weren’t for her. No one had ever sent her flowers.
The bus reached her stop and she got off, shivering as a cold breeze went right through her clothes. She hadn’t bothered with a jacket.
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm as she walked toward her building. She was about three blocks away because she’d timed it poorly. She’d missed the bus she’d planned on taking, so it was later than she would have liked.
Why couldn’t she get simple things like that right?
Stupid brain.
A strange feeling moved through her. Was . . . was someone watching her? She glanced around but couldn’t see anything. She felt extra jumpy at the moment, and she didn’t know why. Maybe it was the flowers.
It was likely they’d been meant for someone else.
But what if they hadn’t been? What if someone had purposely sent them to her?