I nod because I understand. I miss him, too. Especially with this shell standing in front of me, reminding me of everything I’ve lost.
“Can I…?” He screws up his face, making an agonised groan. “I don’t know how to ask this without sounding stupid.”
“Then sound stupid.”
“You said you’d go to the senior’s dance with me. I bought you a dress. Can I…?” He winces, shuffling from foot to foot. “Can I still give it to you?”
“Give it to your next girlfriend.”
“There isn’t anyone else. There won’t be.”
And that strikes my funny bone because who does he think he’s kidding? This is a play, manipulating me because he sensed what I wanted most of all and now he’s using it to twist me around until he gets what he wants.
What you want, too.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You told me the first time we talked you had multiple girlfriends. Don’t expect me to believe you became celibate overnight.”
His nose wrinkles and he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. You don’t have to remind me I was a massive dick. Alyingmassive dick.” When his eyes meet mine again, they’re so sad I can’t hold his gaze. “We could still go as friends. I really want to be your friend.”
Rosa gets up from the sofa and moves past us to the kitchen, giving my hand a squeeze as she passes by. Is that a sign? Should I ask her and Finley for advice?
Probably not. I doubt any of the three of us know what a healthy relationship looks like.
What’s the worst he could do? Throw money at me until we have a wonderful night? There’s a weird freedom in living in this hell. Things can only improve from here.
“Sure,” I say. Zach blinks in amazement, frowning slightly as though sensing a trick behind my easy capitulation. “But as friends. And if I find someone better on the dancefloor, I don’t want any bullshit when I leave with them instead.”
“Find someone better.” His lips purse with customary arrogance. “As if.”
He drags me close and presses a kiss to my temple, whispering, “Thank you.”
An apology and gratitude in one encounter. I barely know where to stand.
But the moment he leaves, my heart sinks. The smell from the cold pizza turns my stomach, even as I toss it on a plate and cover it with gladwrap, ready for leftovers tomorrow. When I try to retreat to my bedroom to overthink everything, Finley intervenes.
“No, you’re sitting here.” She drags me to the couch, between her and Rosa, and resumes the streaming service. “Nobody ever healed by sitting alone in their bedroom moping.”
“Whereas dissecting the love life of perfect strangers boosts serotonin and aids in the healing of physical signs of trauma in the brain.”
“No, shit?” Finley stares at Rosa with amazement. “Is that true?”
“For tonight, it is. Now pass me a cold slice of pizza and shut your gob. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“You’re trying to will her to pick the wrong person and end up suffering for the rest of her life,” Finley mutters, blinking when a cold wedge lands on her chest. Then she eats it. “But I’ll quieten down for the greater good. You can thank me later.”
Squeezed between the squabbling pair, I feel more contentment than I have in a long while. And after sitting through one episode, I finally grasp the appeal of the show.
Watching someone else’s relationship gaffes is so much easier than living through my own.
CHAPTERTHIRTY
LILAC
The dark crimsondress fits to my curves like I’ve been poured into it. The velvet is so luxurious to touch that I can’t stop patting myself, like I’m my own lapdog.
Fabric criss-crosses my chest in soft pleated layers, making the most of my limited cleavage while leaving my creamy shoulders bare. The skirt is so long, it rustles against the carpet when I walk.
“You look wonderful,” I whisper to my reflection, having to say the words to myself because no one else is at home.
