I asked her to the charity event, and she said no because she had already made plans.
With him.
Fucking Clint.
Then, like a little bitch, I ran. I didn’t want her to see how annoyed I was that she said no. It’s her life, and she can do what she wants. Logically I know that, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing she was going with me.
We’ve made so much progress lately. I’ve been touching her every chance I get, making sure that when she’s in the room my attention is on her. I flirt, and when I do, her eyes soften. I’ve done everything the guys told me to do that they claimed would help win her over, but I crashed and burned.
Or at least it feels like it.
I let myself into my apartment and rake my hands through my hair.
This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go, and I have no one to blame but me. I’m the fool who waited until the last minute to ask her to join me. I should have done it sooner.
Then again, she’s never brought a date with her in the past. We’ve just always gone together, no questions asked. This is what I get for assuming. They say assuming makes an ass out of you and me, but in this case, it’s one hundred and ten percent on me.
I could always go back up and tell her that I want to go with her. That I want her to cancel on him.
No. No. No. I can’t.
I want her to go with me because she wants to, not because I force her hand.
I force myself to walk across the living room away from the door and flop down onto my couch.
This is a mess, but it’s not unfixable. She promised me a dance. One dance.
Surely I can make that the best dance of her life, right?
Before I can spiral any further, my phone rings. When I pull it out of my pocket, I see Brantley’s name flash across the screen.
“Shouldn’t you be watching your team?” I ask as I answer, not bothering with formalities.
“Our game is tomorrow.”
I look down at my watch to double-check the date, and sure enough, I’m one day off.
“Well, shit,” I mutter.
“Been a long day?” He chuckles.
“You have no idea.”
“Tell me about it.”
“How about you tell me why you’re calling? It’s after six, shouldn’t you be making dinner for Chloe?” I ask, trying to pull the attention off of me.
I swear to God, I’ve been the center of my friends’ attention lately, and I hate it. I much prefer when it was them going through shit and not me. I don’t care if it makes me a dick for saying that.
“She’s working late on a project. I’m going to pick her up in two hours so she doesn’t have to drive home after dark.”
“You could just order her a ride,” I remind him.
“Eh, I’d rather just do it myself. Gives us more time together.”
“Look at you being all domesticated,” I tease.
“You know it. Now enough deflecting. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Don’t think I didn’t notice your voice did that weird thing it does when you are trying to hide something.”
