“The goat ate your money?” Drew asks, an amused chuckle leaving his throat.
“He was a pushy little bastard.”
“Damn, Julia. You should’ve texted me. I would’ve come and saved you.” Drew chuckles again and pulls me into a hug when we stop in front of my door. “So, I was thinking,” he says, and his arms are still wrapped around my waist as he looks down at me. “I could come in for a bit? Just hang. Nothing major.”
I hate that my eyes flick to the apartment door over his shoulder. I don’t even mean to look, but I do. And instantly, guilt flashes through me like a spark to dry grass.
It feels a lot like Ace almost kissed me again tonight, and there wasn’t a single part of me that was trying to stop him.
Wow, Julia. You’re kind of a bitch.
I can’t even find a reason not to agree with that thought. I mean, I am being a bitch to Drew. I’ve agreed to be his girlfriend, but it’s like I’m not all the way into being his girlfriend. Which feels insanely cruel.
Crueler than I ever thought I was capable of.
Goodness, I need to get it together. I need to figure my shit out. I need to reflect on all the things rolling through my mind. I can’t agree to be someone’s girlfriend and then spend most of my time lying to them.
You shouldn’t be someone’s girlfriend when you’re in lo—
I cut off my rogue thoughts and discreetly move a breath of oxygen in and out of my lungs, forcing myself to focus on Drew.
I meet his eyes again. “Can I take a rain check again? My head is kind of pounding, and I have to get up really early tomorrow to have breakfast with my mom and grandma.”
Thankfully, none of those things are lies.
“Oh. Yeah, of course.” Drew’s smile falters a little, but it’s still there.
“Maybe we can grab dinner tomorrow night?” I offer immediately when more guilt starts to creep in.
“That sounds like a plan.” He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Call me tomorrow?”
I nod.
He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips, and I hate the part of myself that doesn’t let the kiss linger into anything more.
Drew smiles at me one last time before heading to the elevator, and I give a little wave as he steps onto the cart and the doors close.
For too long, I stand there in front of my apartment door, staring across the hallway at Ace’sdoor.
I’m still pissed at him for turning our entire friendship on its head a week ago—so angry, I think I’d be a degree hotter if I checked my temperature—and yet…
Thoughts of him consume my every waking moment.
God.
Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes and my spine tingles with the fight to keep them at bay.
Will it ever end?
It’s all such a mess, and the thing that’s the most messed up out of everything is I really miss my best friend.
Eventually, I make myself go inside and lock the door. I kick off my shoes, head into my bedroom, and plop down onto my bed. My phone feels like it weighs fifty pounds in my hand as I stare down at it.
Next thing I know, I’m pulling up our thread. There are years and years’ worth of text messages inside this thing. A snapshot into our best friendship that started the instant our parents agreed to let us get cell phones. And it’s still pinned at the top of my text inbox. I haven’t been able to unpin it.
Do you want to talk?
I stare at the words I just typed, wondering if the pain of the rift is worth the pride of finding my backbone.
