Page 55 of The Man I Hate

“For what?”

“Being inconsiderate. For constantly coming and going while the rest of the state is on lockdown. For not believing this pandemic was real. For leaving the other night when Mica came. I guess I’m apologizing for being a prick.”

I hated to rub salt into an open wound, but I wasn’t going to accept his apology if it wasn’t heartfelt. As things stood, I wasn’t sure if he was sincere or not. Having Braxton disappoint me again wasn’t going to do me any good whatsoever. If I accepted his apology without an explanation, I would potentially set myself up for being hurt again.

“I’m not going to accept your apology just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself,” I said. “If you truly mean it, I mean truly mean it, I’ll consider it.”

“It wasn’t easy for me to offer an apology to you in the first place,” he explained. “It’s not something I do very often. When you sent that text message asking for fourteen days, it pissed me off. All along, I thought this disease was nothing but bullshit. I know now that it’s not. You were right, I was wrong. As far as I can tell, my father got infected from me. I don’t know how else he could have contracted it, honestly. Me being inconsiderate has risked his life. By requesting fourteen days from me, all you were trying to do was protect yours.”

“Apology accepted,” I said.

He looked at the sandwich. Seeming disgusted, he blindly tossed it over his shoulder, into his house. He wiped his hand on the thigh of his jeans. “Want to start over?”

I stared in disbelief. “Whaaa?”

“Start over,” he said. “At the beginning.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Do you want to?”

“Where’s the beginning of this mess?”

He seemed surprised at my response. “Mess? You think this has been a—”

“Don’t act like it’s been anything but a mess.”

“Alright. I’ll give you that,” he said. “Fine, it has been a mess. To make it better, let’s roll the clock back to where I tossed that guy in your trunk. We’ll act like everything after that never happened. How’s that sound?”

“Pretty good.” I hoped to remain emotionless. I grinned a giddy smile, instead. “Hi. I’m Anna Wilson.”

“Name’s Rourke,” he said. “Braxton Rourke. Nice to meet you.”

“Do you ever smile, Rourke, Braxton Rourke?”

“I’ve been known to from time to time,” he replied. “When the mood strikes me.”

I lifted my tee shirt to my chin, exposing my very naked boobs for him to ogle. I hadn’t worn a bra since the entire COVID-19 thing started. I hoped at some point my lack of lingerie would come in handy. It seemed my prayers had been answered.

At least one of them, anyway.

“Damn.” He wagged his brows. “Is that standard procedure when you meet a man?”

“Not for all of them,” I replied. “Only the cute ones.”

He choked on a laugh. “I’m cute?”

In his jeans, tee shirt, and socks he was adorable. I offered him a smile of reassurance. “Yes, you are.”

He may have blushed a little. It was hard to tell, because his beard hadn’t been trimmed in a few days.

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry about your father.”

“So am I.”

“I’ll say a prayer for him.” I pointed at the sky. “I’m in tight with the man upstairs.”

He winced. “I’m not sure where I stand with him. If I was forced to guess, I’d say I’m pretty low on the totem pole. Wouldn’t hurt to have someone else asking for favors, that’s for sure.”

“Consider it done.”