Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

studied because he didn't want to give away his unfair advantage should we come to odds some time.
    Not wanting a broken arm, I hesitated without touching him. "I think we'd be good together," I said, "if only we'd had all the information and not Sam's dumb joke…" I glanced over my shoulder at Sam, who was too busy trying to breathe through a broken nose to notice. He wouldn't be any help. Before I slugged him, I'd hoped he'd come clean if confronted. I returned my attention to Wolfgang, fun and beautiful and showing a slight interest beyond glaring daggers at me. "Can we hit the reset button, Wolfgang?"
    He didn't answer right away, and I felt like I'd lost. Maybe I'd imagined the softening of his expression. I was suddenly grateful I'd already arranged to move in with Kenzie because if I was angry at Sam before, there weren't enough words to describe what I felt now.
    As we stood there staring at each other, Sam yelled something from within the office. It sounded like he hadn't moved from where he fell. Most of his words were curses directed at me and a few contained mumbling about a broken nose. Broken or not, he deserved it. I refused to feel guilty.
    Wolfgang glanced towards the door. "Go get some ice from the bar," he said. He squeezed past without touching me, and didn't look back to see if I'd listened.
    I didn't owe Sam ice, but as I headed for the front door, my good upbringing kicked in. I changed directions and headed for the bar. With a large glass full of ice cubes in hand, I returned to the office. Wolfgang crouched beside Sam, tipping his head back and dabbing at his nose with a bar rag. I set the glass down beside him and turned to leave.
    "Jase." The commanding tone of Wolfgang's voice had me stopping without meaning to. I didn't look back, but I heard him moving around behind me. A few moments later, I felt his touch on my arm and then he pressed a cloth wrapped around ice into my hand.
    "Oh, no," I said. I pulled away and glared at him. "He's not my problem anymore. I'm out of here."
    "Sam told me that you were moving out." His words froze me again. I met his gaze, but he looked away, focusing on my hand. He eased the compress against my knuckles, pausing only a moment when I hissed at the tenderness I hadn't noticed before. Sam's head was like a rock, and my fingers would be stiff and painful for a few days.
    "I got tired of his pranks," I said. The wind out of my sails, I felt melancholy. Wolfgang was a stand-up guy. He showed no interest in forgiving me, but he noticed my injury and tried to help. Damn, Sam, for doing it wrong.
    "He said he didn't know why, and I didn't press, though I suspected."
    "Did he tell you why I said what I did?"
    "He laughed about it." Wolfgang glanced up, but then cast his gaze down and to the side. It was a vulnerability I felt as if I should see. "It made me even angrier with you."
    "I wasn't fucking laughing."
    "Again, with the foul mouth." He looked up, a slight curve teased at one corner of his lips.
    He seemed to be trying to make amends after all, but I burned with both what I'd perceived as rejection and at Sam's cocky attitude. Everyone wanted forgiveness without apology.
    I couldn't control my mouth. "So fucking what," I snapped. "You didn't tell me a damn thing that night either. I thought we had this connection, but you were in on it. You had a key. You knew I'd be tied up. What the fuck, Wolfgang? You deserved to be called a whore."
    I walked out of the room mentally kicking myself. I'd spent last night tossing and turning in Kenzie's spare room. To get over Wolfgang's flirting and Sam's stupidity, I'd convinced myself Wolfgang had been in on the joke. I didn't truly believe it, but I wanted to, and that feeling returned to defend me from further shame. I felt better knowing—thinking—he was a jerk too, and not the great guy I'd thought he was.
    "Jase."
    I flinched, but kept walking. Without looking back, I said, "The music man really just slings drinks. It was a good story, Wolfgang, it really was."
    He grabbed my arm, and said, "I do both. Neither one is a six figure salary."
    I could've wrenched free, but I stopped. It wasn't about that, but it kind of was. Last night I'd convinced myself everything was a lie if he'd made up a story about working as a music teacher when he was really a bartender. I glared at Wolfgang when I turned around, but the concern in his eyes dug under the seams of my anger, releasing it like a weak spot in a balloon