Seems a little hypocritical to me.
But I’ve learned I’m almost always wrong when it comes to the pint-sized whirlwind sitting next to me.
Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture and send a text to Aspen.
PHOENIX: (picture of table covered in a mess of frosting and cookies)
PHOENIX: Apparently, I’m doing it wrong
I haveno idea what compels me to send the text, but I wait with bated breath for her response.
ASPEN: I’ve heard that about you
PHOENIX: Tell me how you really feel
My reply is meantto be teasing but I’m mid-swallow when hers comes in, forcing it down the wrong pipe and causing me to immediately start coughing. Bristol looks at me, her eyebrow raised more out of curiosity than concern.
ASPEN: I tried and you shot me down
I readthe text over again, doing everything in my power not to encourage any more blood to run south because now is not the time to remember the way Aspen’s body felt pressed against me in the darkened corner of the coffee shop.
She’d been so damn sexy that night.
Bold.
And I’d balked.
I knew she’d ruin me back then—but would she now?
It’s been months since then—yearssince that breakup—and really, what was I still holding on to? My relationship with April had been shallow at best. We’d been young, and she was right to turn me down when I’d asked her to marry me. And I’d held on to that feeling of rejection—of hurt—every day since.
But why?
My thumb hovers over the screen, my heart beating faster in my chest than it should.
PHOENIX: Maybe we should try again
Three little dotsappear and then disappear.
And then nothing.
Forcing myself to put my phone in my lap, I finish frosting my cookie, making sure to adhere to the appropriate snowman etiquette. Navy squeals at my finished product, and I chuckle before muffling a groan as Bristol sets another tray of cookies down in front of us.
She must see my panic because she places a hand on my shoulder and grins. “You’re relieved of cookie duty.”
I barely stop myself from sayingoh thank God,but just barely.
ASPEN: Impress me
Two little wordsstare back at me, a challenge.
A dare.
“Uh-oh,” Bristol says, looking over my shoulder as she reads the conversation on my screen. “You know she’s my friend, right?”
“You want me to stay away from her?” I ask, unease coursing through me because while Bristol’s disapproval would be warranted, it would also suck.
“No,” she says lightly, “I’m just letting you know if it ends in divorce I’m keeping her.”
