Scorned (From the Inside Out #1) Read Free Page B

man. In a small way, I want to test the theory. But not today.
    He turns, then rushes out the door and my gaze drops to his coffee he left behind on my table. I stare at it, my granola parfait long forgotten. Picking up the cup, I see droplets of coffee around the hole in the lid and I’m tempted to taste it. I don’t know if I want to taste the coffee, or him, or both, but the thought disturbs me and makes me feel stalkerish. I set it back down exactly where he left it, spinning it back to the way it was before it was abandoned.
    Tucking my hands under the table, I grasp them together to keep from touching the offensive white to-go cup again. I tilt my head to read the order label stuck crookedly on the side: Black . I glance down at my porcelain coffee mug and the black, no fuss coffee that remains and remember the times we shared black coffee together.
    The bell chimes and my eyes flash up. His half smile and body language speaks of his embarrassment as he returns. “Forgot my coffee, and I seriously need the caffeine this morning.”
    I watch as he wraps his fingers around the paper cup. My heart races, remembering how they used to wrap around me, in me, curling, teasing, pleasing… Forcing my eyes up, I watch as he sits down in the opposite chair. He looks nervous once again, uncertain as his eyes search the tabletop for the words he wants to use. After clearing his throat, his voice is deep and hesitant when he says, “I want you to know I’m sorry.”
    Sorry.
    After three years of heartbreak, tears, and numbness, the power of his words is the key, turning the lock on the chest that’s buried in the recesses. Tears form in the corner of my eyes and my gaze drops down to the wood grain of the table, unable to look at him with any kind of emotion other than hurt. Waving my hand erratically in front of me, I unknowingly let him off the hook, as if to say oh, that, that was nothing. No worries . But my words don’t match my actions. “Don’t,” I say, all emotion that’s threatening to come back is gone again in an instant.
    When I stand, he stands. His hand gently caresses my upper arm and my eyes follow it. Realizing the act of touching me is unwelcome, he pulls his hand back, and whispers, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want you to know how I feel.”
    Struggling from being this close to him, I say, “It’s not necessary and you’re supposed to be downtown in five minutes.” I bolt for the door in a blur of words and excuses. “And I’ve got to get to work.”
    The bell chimes my exit, another echoes as he follows me out onto the sidewalk. I know it’s him. I can feel his presence, his heat, his concern, his apologetic face searing my back. I rush forward, away from him, but he remains close. Finally his footsteps falter and he says, “I know what today is, Juliette.”
    Cringe. I stop, not able to take it any longer. With my hands fisting at my sides, I turn around and lose my temper altogether. “Stop calling me Juliette!”
    He’s stricken with my untamed emotion, his face one of shock and horror, confusion, and still so damn apologetic.
    Stepping to the curb, I flail my arm into the air to hail a cab, needing a fast getaway, an escape from him. When the taxi pulls away from the curb, I exhale as the chest is sealed tightly and returned to where it belongs.

 
     
     
    I WANT TO see Juliette again. I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s a beautiful woman, not a girl anymore. I miss the girl, but I threw her away, thinking the grass was greener. It wasn’t.
    She’s different, on the inside. Changed. Did I do that to her? I hope not.
    With my feet resting atop my desk, I have a chewed up pen cap in my mouth as I stare out my corner office window. My cell phone and call button have been silenced, so I’m not disturbed. I let my thoughts drift back to the beginning of the end…
     
    Juliette pulls back from the kiss and whispers that she’s tired. It’s 2:37 in the morning. My ego