Why didn’t Chrissy tell me about the after school club?
I put my seatbelt back on and put the address for the Timeworks building into the GPS. While I’m there, I can get my car back.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cassius
Thankfully, I did not run into Harmon while at his building, though why would I? I was going to a different floor, and it’s not like he rides the elevator all day. Though I did find some strange relief to know that he wasn’t leaning over Wendy’s desk flirting with her.
I don’t know why I am letting that bother me so much. He’s told me that he’s not onlynotinto her, but he’s not into women at all. It’s not an issue, so it shouldn’t be a concern. I’m being crazy.
And I’m the one who told him we can’t do this, so I have no right to be jealous. He isn’t mine and he won’t be. That’s what I said this morning.
Yet, I can’t stop thinking about it, anyway. I can’t stop thinking about us being together, likeactuallytogether. It feels so normal, so natural. Enough so that I invited him to my house for my sister’s birthday. That’s a big step. Not only coming to my house but meeting my sisters. What the hell was I thinking?
It didn’t scare him away though, and that’s something. It’s abigsomething. He agreed to come, and even looked happy, maybe a little relieved.
It’s not that I want to tell him not to come, but maybe it’s for the best? If we can’t do this… we need to stick to the rules, and this definitely breaks them.
Why am I still thinking about it? I have good news—amazing news!
I officially have custody of my sister. It’sofficial. We don’t have to worry about our mother causing problems. No more insurance running out. No more nights without her, worrying whether or not she’s okay.
I get off the elevator at the main floor and walk toward the front doors but don’t go out of them.
“Hello.” I greet the receptionist at the desk. An older woman with her glasses perched on her nose, reading a book.
“What can I do for you?” she asks without looking up at me. Her hair is short, curly, and grey.
“I’m going to be honest with you—” Because I figure this is going to be the easiest thing to do. “Harmon Stone let me borrow his car. I’m here to drop it off. But I am avoiding him and don’t want to head up to his floor. Does he have a mailbox down here I can shove these in?”
She looks up at me, blinks slowly, then stares at me like I asked for the square root of pi.
“Uh, well, on better thought, maybe I’ll bring themup—”
“Margie here giving you a hard time?” the mailman asks as he leans against the counter, smiling at me like he’s proud of himself for the joke.
“Oh, I, uh…”
He’s a good-looking guy. Green eyes, sandy blonde hair, and enough facial hair that it isn’t overwhelming.
“She can be grouchy around this time,” he whispers, hiding his mouth behind a handful of letters that are bound together by a rubber band. He chuckles, then hands them over to the woman behind the desk.
“Oh, Dillon, knock it off,” she giggles, smiling at him with little hearts in her eyes.
Now, I am not one to judge anything here, but this woman has got to be twice his age. Maybe he’s into that. But if the way he’s looking at me is any indication, I’m going to say he plays for the other team and she has no clue. Or maybe she does, and she’s being hopeful.
Margie brings her attention to me. “Just hand them to me. I’ll make sure he gets them.”
“Are you sure? I can—”
“Come on, now. Hand them over. Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable in the presence of Mister Stone, of all people.”
“Oh, Mr. Stone, hm? Did you just start working for him?” the mailman—Dillon—asks.
“No, no… I don’t work for him.”
“A friend, then?”