“That’s not what happened,” I say through gritted teeth.
“No?” Brinley’s eyes blaze with fury behind her glasses. “So youdidn’tgive her an ultimatum about dating other guys?”
I drag my hand through my hair, which must look absolutely fucking insane by now. If Marina didn’t already have me so pissed off, maybe I’d be nicer about this. Instead, I point the truth at Brinley like a fucking fire hose.
“I didn’t want her seeing other guys because I’m fucking in love with Pippa!” I shout. “I have been, pretty much since I was a teenager. Like the day I met her. So yeah, I told her we couldn’t have a relationship anymore because it would break my fucking heart watching that. I’m not some blameless, innocent dude—I know that. Because as soon as Pippa acted like she might have feelings for me too, I acted like I didn’t care. I was too fucking scared to tell her that I loved her, and I ruined it. The way I ruin everything.”
Some of the anger seeps out of me after that. I’m not the only one—Brinley’s eyes are wide behind her glasses, all thevenom gone. The pale woman hovers in the door, holding a large painting in shades of dove gray and olive green, like a literal picture of anger disappearing.
I run my fingers through my hair and stare at the ground. “I let her think she was the only one who felt something,” I mutter. “And I probably lost her for that. But I’m going to do everything I can to fix it. So no offense, Brinley, but you can think whatever you want. I only care what Pippa wants, and if she decides she wants me, then well, I’m fucking hers.”
Brinley gapes at me, her jaw practically lying on the counter. I shake my head. There’s no point in me standing here trying to convince her. She’s going to think what she wants, anyway, and none of it will change Pippa’s mind.
“Excuse me,” I tell the painter. She practically jumps to the side, giving me space to walk out the door.
It’s not until I’m walking back into the House of Cards that I remember I never got Pippa’s books.
39
PIPPA
When I make the mistake of wiggling my feet under my purple blanket, Waffle pounces.
“Stop it!” I scold. “You’re going to put a hole in the air mattress.”
I guess Waffle isn’t too concerned with the only piece of so-called furniture in the new apartment, because she immediately starts making biscuits on the blanket. I shake my head as her claws disappear into the purple fluff.
“When we’re both sleeping on the hardwood floor tonight, you’re going to regret that,” I warn. My words sound echoey in the mostly empty apartment.
The echo makes the place feel even colder. Pathetic as it is, I miss Ryan’s living room—the worn couch, the way his fireplace made the whole place glow like a Christmas card, especially when it was snowing out the tall windows by the kitchen.
After Ryan left to run some errands, I snuck out with Waffle, her carrier, and a go-bag of the essentials to hole up in my new place for a few nights. Yeah, I know, I took the cowardly path, leaving without saying goodbye, but it was an unfortunate necessity. If Ryan had tried to even kiss me again, I probablywould have caved and begged him to let me stay forever. No, some space from him was definitely the only option on the menu.
At least the new apartment is just as beautiful as it looked in the pictures, and without any furniture to speak of, it feels gigantic. Waffle has been loving all the open space to do zoomies in, plus sitting by the big windows overlooking the garden outside, because gardens equal plenty of birds.
Sometimes, though, Waffle goes out in the hallway and meows, like she’s waiting for Ryan to come down the hall so she can wind herself around his ankles. It breaks my heart a little every time, but I need some distance from Ryan if I’m going to process everything that’s happened.
I’m deciding whether to keep reading my book in bed or open my laptop and get some work done when Mom’s name pops up on my phone. My first instinct is to ignore it, but I didn’t answer her last dozen or so calls, and I owe her. I take a fortifying deep breath before I answer.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie! How are you doing?” she asks brightly.
My brow furrows. I expected her to lay into me about the articles and everything that happened with Ryan. Instead, she sounds casual—normal. Like nothing happened.
“I’m doing okay?” I reply awkwardly.
“And how’s the new apartment?”
I glance around at my bedroom, empty except for a single-standing light and my open suitcase. The built-in bookshelves are completely empty. “It’s good. There’s a lot I have to get for it—curtains and stuff.
“Let me know if you want me to take you shopping for some things. We could go to Pottery Barn and pick out a few things.”
“That’s sweet, Mom, but I think Target might be more in my budget.”
“Well, maybe I could help out a little. You deserve some nice furniture.”
My brain skips for a second. This is a first. Mom has always made a point of not offering to pay for pricey things since she married into Jack’s money. I don't know what made her offer to take me on a shopping spree all of a sudden. And she still hasn’t brought up Ryan. I’m starting to wonder if she missed reading any articles about us altogether. “So, sweetie?” Mom prompts me. “Should we go to Pottery Barn this weekend? Saturday, maybe?”
