Charlie Labrecque was nervous.
Though he had a script in mind, he knew perfectly well that even the most well-rehearsed words could get twisted, or forgotten, or ignored. It was entirely possible he would open his mouth, and everything that came out would be wrong, and he would be back exactly where he started from.
The only thing that kept his feet moving toward the front door was the knowledge that it couldn’t get any worse. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And the last time he’d made this kind of attempt, it had gone much better than he’d ever imagined.
His hand shook as he knocked at Bryce’s door. When he realized it was also sweating, he hastily rubbed his palm against his pants. He had started sweating while practicing in front of his mirror that afternoon. He had hoped he wouldn
