It felt like a constant reminder, however. And I hated myself for feeling that way. I hated that all these amazing and wonderful things happening to my best friend made me feel sorry for myself. Even though I didn’t voice the thoughts outloud andneverwould, it made me feel like a bad person and a bad friend for even thinking and feeling them at all.
I told myself months ago that I needed to accept that all-consuming, earth-shattering, change-your-life kind of love wasn’t in the cards for me. I’d done a pretty good job of forcing myself to believe that my personal life may be playing out differently than I imagined it would but that it was okay. Life had a way of not going exactly how you planned it, no matter who you were, how much you wanted something, or how hard you manifested.
I was grateful for what I did have—a good job, a roof over my head, friends and family that I loved and who loved me in return. I had a good life—a great one, even.
So why couldn’t I let go of the notion of thatone thingI didn’t have?
I’d never had a taste of it, never feeling anything close to what it was described as. So why did I feel like my life was lacking something I was unable to even relate to? How was it that I wascravingandmissingsomething I’d never experienced?
And I couldn’t help but question the why of it all.
Why hadn’t I found it?
Was there something wrong with me? Was I looking too hard? Was I not looking hard enough?
Maybe Wes was right that night when he said my standards and expectations were too high. Perhaps I was too much, to the point where I was deemed not enough or not worth the trouble, where only pieces of me were wanted rather thanallof me.
No matter how much I wanted it, though, I’d rather wallow in the self-pity I hated to feel thaneverbe anything other than my true self or settle for less than what I felt I deserved.
I finished my glass of wine, letting out a breath as I reached for my phone and pulled up my messages.
Hey. Are you doing anything tonight?
WC
Nope.
Can you come over?
Be there in five.
I let out a breath, tossing my phone next to me on the couch as I ran my fingers through my hair.
For the first time in nearly the year since we made our deal, I messaged Wes for more than just sex.
I messaged him because, at that moment, I didn’t feel like being alone.
Chapter 28
Another year,another fucking February celebrating this godforsaken “holiday” with sparkly hearts and flowers and jewelry sales.
This year, however, Valentine’s Day was going to be alittledifferent for me.
It was Sunday, and because of the “special” day, my mom gave me and Haley a pass on family dinner. I’d tried to counter that I had no plans, but she insisted, so I didn’t argue.
Then, an idea struck.
I’d gone to the store earlier that afternoon, which was a mistake in and of itself because everyone and their damn brother seemed to be there, but I managed to survive. I spent the remainder of the afternoon hanging out until I shot off a message to Morgan, who I already knew didn’t have plans that evening based on a conversation I overheard between her and Callie last night at the bar.
Come over.
Princess
Now?
No, tomorrow Yes, now.
Give me 45 min.
