I mean, sure, love and chemistrycancoexist. But it doesn’t mean it’s for me. Because of my stupid fucking rules. I made that abundantly clear to Xander.
My rules might have been built on bullshit, but they have served me well for eleven years.
Until now, I’ve never wavered in my confidence. Never questioned myself. And I sure as hell never,evermoped.
What happened?
Xander happened.
Well, fuck that.
I’ll figure out how to get my job back, but I’m not doing it with Xander’s help. I’ve never relied on a man for anything more than one night before, and I’m not going to start now. In fact, that’s probably the best place to start.
I let go of Em and stand tall in front of her. A smile grows over her face. “Oh hey, where’ve you been?” she says, acknowledging that the Ash she’s come to know and love is standing before her, and not some spiraling mess.
Mad, I can do. Angry, yep, I love that for me.
But not shrinking into a ball and wanting the world to swallow me whole. That just isn’t me. “Sorry, took a brief detour. I’m back now,” I say, reaching for my phone and swiping to my apps.
“Fuck yes,” she says, placing the paperwork on the kitchen bench. “You are going to nail this.”
I ignore her as the app loads on my phone. Seconds later, there’s an unmistakable chirp. A match. With a guy called Brad. My eyes scrape over the photo. He’s wearing a fedora. And a deep V-neck T-shirt. It’s a gym selfie. He’s flexing his biceps. He’s perfect.Douche.
I smile, accepting the match and the plan of meeting up on Friday afternoon. I look up at Em, mid-grin, and she’s frowning at me.
“Well, I’m definitely going to nail Brad,” I say, that mid-grin growing. “Ash is back.”
I do a little shoulder shimmy as I make my way to my bedroom to get ready for our next tennis lesson. She follows me into the bedroom.
“Ash, that’s not what I meant when I said you were back,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “We need to prep for your deposition and plan your big romantic gesture to win Xander back, not fuck around with a rebound.” She’s scowling at me now like she would a student.
“Fuck around with a rebound,” I start chanting, just like she did when we were playing the “Fuck Xander” game that seems like forever ago. She doesn’t join in. “Fuck around with a rebound!” I continue to chant.
“Win him back!” she chants over my voice. The problem with her being an English teacher is that her voice carries like she’s in an amphitheater. I know I can’t win, so I stop and wait for her to finish.
“You done?” I ask.
“Are you?” she says back.
“Yes, Em. It’s over,” I say, surprisingly calm at the definitive nature of this comment.
“It’s not over until it’s over,” she says. I roll my eyes at her, trying to brush her off, but she doesn’t let me.
I sigh. “You didn’t see his cold eyes slicing into me. He rejected me,” I say, serious now. I don’t let myself linger in the rejection, afraid it’ll be all consuming and have me slinking to the floor in a puddle of tears.
“Ash,” Em says.
“It’s over. Ash is back. And I don’t need a guy to get me my job back,” I say before walking past her toward the door, ready for the last month to be ancient fucking history.
I sit at the bar, ignoring the third message from Xander today asking how the deposition preparation is going.
It’s not going anywhere, bro.
The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself I’m not making a statement admissible in court about my rules and my relationships. I will not be the punching bag. That’s my mother’s job.
Plus, it’s summer vacation. And I wasted four weeks with Xander. I’m not wasting another second responding to messages.
I flip my phone around because after spending the last two days avoiding Xander, I amthiscloseto meeting Brad, and therefore I amthiscloseto being thoroughly distracted for the next few hours.
