I run my hand through my hair, and for half a second, I think,Can I get the guy back?
The answer is no.
Ididn’t post tonight. I’m trying to care, but I don’t have any fucks left to give. Currently, I’m drowning my lack of caring in Stella Artois and cheap chips and gourmet salsa. It’s dismal excuse for comfort food, but it’s what I have, and I’m not exactly up for venturing out to the store.
I’ve been home from Florida for a week, thinking each day would get better. But rather than better, each day has been worse than the one before.
Reilly is helping me, freeing me up to work on the blog, but I can’t bring myself to post. Everything I want to grill, I think,Gabby would love this, orAndi would look amazing sitting across from me eating this.
I’m the sappiest of the sappy.
I channel my inner Spencer and decide to look at her damn blog, hoping to reinvigorate my mind with the evil side of her. She’s pure demon, deceptive and a con artist. That’s what I tell myself.
I was harsh to her, but she deserved it. Right? I mean, she duped me. For what? Sex? A new baby daddy? All that crap about Gabby’s feelings, was it bullshit?
And then I read her latest post, and it breaks me.
I did this, caused this, and she’s out there saying I’m the blogger she wants to be like. I made her come out of the closet, ruined her livelihood, and jeopardized Gabby.
Me.
Fuck me.
Deserting my chips and beer on the counter, I head into my office and decide to formulate a plan. I’m an ass. Or was an ass. Now I can be a hero.
My first call is to Leona. She answers with some faux sexy, “Hellooo.”
“Leona, it’s Reid. We need to talk.”
“It’s Reid,” she whispers to someone ... maybe Andi?
My pulse jumps at the thought. Maybe she and I can hash this out right now. I can pretend to still be mad and have her explain, and then forgive her. My mouth can be between her thighs in a few hours.
Jesus Christ, do I miss her taste.
But, it’s Gabby, which in a way is even better. The three of us discuss a strategy, and all I have to do is wake up and put it in motion.
Easier said than done. I toss and turn most of the night.
At ten the next morning, I set out on a run and keep my eyes peeled for Andi. Leona reported she went out earlier than usual the day before.
I’m just beginning to think I’ve missed her when I see Andi, steamrolling down the university’s main walkway. I see her back; I know that stride and messy ponytail peeking out of a hat.
I pick up my pace and catch up with her from behind, settling into stride next to her. “Hey.”
She doesn’t respond, and I realize she has earbuds in. She’s so out of it; she doesn’t notice someone running next to her.
I pull up ahead and turn around, running backward. “Hey,” I say again.
Confusion clouds her face and she pulls out an earbud.
I don’t stop running backward, and she keeps coming toward me. I think about stopping short, but I don’t push my luck.
“What do you want?” Andi asks me ... and I know she’s upset.
I wasn’t the least bit understanding when she tried to explain to me last week. She had her reasons, and I didn’t even attempt to digest them. I went ballistic on a single mom who only did what she could to make ends meet.
“My ego was so bruised, I couldn’t put my own feelings aside,” I tell her. When I finally slow to a stop, she halts too and takes me in, not saying a word. “I didn’t consider why or what would make you keep the secret. I was so hurt. It felt like you didn’t trust me.”
