“Thank you,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
It’s not forgiveness, not yet. But it’s a start.
CHAPTER 33
Ashlyn
West leftme at my apartment door. He didn’t ask to come in. I’m not sure I would have let him if he had.
My phone pings with a text the next morning, and I reach for it on the bedside table. Jake.
We can pretend it didn’t happen.
I suck in a breath of air. My body doesn’t know how to pretend when it comes to any of them. Sure, my head is a pro, but the rest of me betrays the hell out of me. My fingers hover over the digital keypad as I consider whether to reply. Is that what I want?
The phone lights up with another text.
Or we can accept it for what it was.
I pause. What does he think it was?
My heart lodges in my throat as I wait, eyes fixed on the blinking ellipsis on my screen. It appears and vanishes repeatedly, stretching each pause into what feels like an eternity. I know he's waiting for my response.
I type slowly,
We both know it happened. We’re adults, we had a fun night…
and send it off.
Almost immediately, my phone buzzes again. I glance at it and see his reply:
Yeah, fun night.
I let out a frustrated sigh and toss the phone aside. Fun night? Really? I think back over everything—the touches, the whispered words, the connection that is still definitely there between us. It wasn’t just fun; it was something more significant. But I can’t exactly tell him, "Hey Jake, I gave you my heart, don’t break it." Instead, I sit here, caught between what I feel and what I’m supposed to feel.
I get ready with the uncomfortable ball of emotions sitting on my chest. Completely in my head. It’s probably why the second I stepped out of my apartment building I didn’t notice Owen peeling away from the gray bricks.
Paparazzi are on it though, because flashes of light catch him trying to hand me a coffee. As they shout intrusive questions at us. Shelley’s going to murder me if Owen ruins this fake dating angle by continuing to show up.
“What are you doing here?” I practically hiss the question at him.
He looks me up and down and slowly smiles. “I missed you.”
“Owen,” I sigh.
The lines by his eyes tighten as his smile turns fake. “What are you really doing with Primal Pulse?”
“That isn’t a question you get to ask me.”
He presses his lips together as he ignores my words. He holds out the coffee again. “Take it. It’s your favorite.”
I doubt it is. He never bothered to learn what I really liked. It’s probably a vanilla latte or something.
“Come on, Ashlyn, don’t be this way. Can’t an old friend bring you a coffee? Isn’t that what that lead singer did for you from Primal Pulse? I saw the pictures.”
He sounds jealous. Not that him being jealous is a surprise. He was always jealous of other alphas or betas or anyone that gave me half a smile.
I take the coffee, smelling it. Vanilla. I was right. “Thanks, Owen,” I say before brushing past him and depositing it into the nearest trash. He doesn’t follow. But I knew he wouldn’t, he was just there for the photo ops. He probably hopes they land him on the front of some magazine.
