"Listen," she huffs. "He seems really nice. He signed all those jerseys for Cooper's team last year, and he is pretty great with him one on one. But, age aside, you see him in the papers. Plus, there's the recreational drug use I still don't have details on. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with how he lives—nottechnically—but you're trying to move on from that kind of life."
I blow a breath through my lips as Al pulls her phone from her pocket. "Whatever," I say, brushing it off. "It doesn't matter, anyway. He apparently had something to do after our day together, so he's probably out with some famous singer."
"Actress," Alex corrects.
"What!" I snap forward, trying to regain my composure as Alex peers at me from over her screen. "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice dramatically tempered.
She tilts her phone toward me, and I lean into it. A picture fills the screen—Drew in a black button-up shirt, black jeans, and his boots, his arm draped over a woman in a silver beaded mini-dress. The photo is on Golden City's gossip page with the headline,"Is Anderson Putting the Sin in Sinclair?"
"That's the girl from Zombie Tsunami," I mumble.
And he was literally just here.
"Oh, I know," Alex says. "Thanks to you,she'smy son's newest obsession."
I offer her a closed-lip smile despite now being pissed at both DrewandCooper.
Alex twists the phone back toward her and continues swiping on the screen as my stomach churns. Is Drew serious?Thiswas what he had to do?Whohe had to do?
I know I'm nothing to him. Hell, we're nothing to each other besides a player and a temporary social media manager for the same team. But with how things have been—with how things ended—I didn't think he'd be running off my stoop just to meet another girl.
He's the one who told me actions will speak louder than words. Tonight, I think both of our efforts are screaming at the top of their lungs. So, I only half-invited him in. But I put myself out there! And it was pretty clear that he understood what was going on in my messed-up mind, which also really says something. For him to skip right over it and into some zombie slayer's bed tells me everything I need to know.
With that thought, and the rest of the wine that shoots straight to my head, I take a deep, clarifying breath. "Okay, then," I say sharply. "That settles that."
Alex looks up at me as if she doesn't believe it. "I'm serious," I add. "Name one time I went after a guy who didn't want me back."
She purses her lips and tilts her head side-to-side as if she's thinking. "I got nothing."
"Exactly. And I'm damn sure not starting now. I'm getting settled, not settling."
Even if it's Drew.
"Well, alright then," she says, grabbing my empty glass from my hand. "One more to celebrate."
I nod definitively as she stands from the couch. Thisdoescall for celebration. The last ten hours—no, the lastweek—all I've been doing is fighting with myself. I can't want Drew. Idowant Drew. It would never work. But maybe it could. Putting down roots is my goal. Putting down roots is a mindset. Settling is necessary. Settling is also scary as hell. Who says I can't have both?
Now? All of that can go away.
The inner turmoil was because the door was cracked open. There was a possibility that under the right circumstances—if all the pieces fell so gracefully into place—that in some universe, I could have the guy fromthe bathroom ten months ago, despite what he is to the rest of the world. That I could plan for my future despite currently being set onhim.That maybe his advances irritate the shit out of me because I'm denying my heart—and my body—of what it truly wants.
But not anymore.
In reality, Drew just did me a favor. He slammed the door shut and gave me permission—not that I needed it—to finally let go of the glorified idea that with me he was different. That he was worth letting in. Maybe therearetwo sides to him, but they're not yin and yang. They're oil and water.
I sink into the couch, and at the same time, Alex comes back with two glasses ofredand the taco bag tucked under her arm. I slide the paper out from her grip, placing the grease-spotted bottom on the coffee table.
"I figured this might call for the hard stuff," she says, handing me my glass.
I grab it from her easily and take a sip, but shake my head. "Nah, I'm good."
"Are you sure?"
Reaching into the bag, I pull out a taco. "Totally," I say, hoping it sounds convincing enough for her to drop it.
She lets out a chuckle and slides the food her way. "Remind me to never piss you off?"
My hands pause on the white take-out paper that the food came wrapped in, and I peer over at her.
