“No,” he argues. “I’m annoyed you didn’t let me talk you into that spacious two-bedroom apartment in our building with the high ceilings and exposed beams. That place was stunning.”
“And over a million dollars,” I remind him.
He shrugs. “You can afford it.”
If he notices me flinch at the mention of money, he doesn’t comment. “I like this place,” I say. “It’s simple and uncomplicated.”
“And temporary?”
“I got rid of the boxes in the corner finally,” I point to the spot over by the small dining table. “See?” I fail to mention that I just stashed them in a storage unit a couple of blocks away, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Wow,” he deadpans. “How long did that take you? Three years?”
“Did you come here to complain about my apartment choice, or did you have an actual reason for visiting?”
He grins, his dimples popping along his stubbled chin. “I came over to talk more about your thoughts on expanding. But first, I want to know how you’re doing. I’ve barely seen you in the last few weeks.”
“You’ve seen me,” I try to argue, but even I know it’s a lie. Ever since I texted Pres at the beginning of the month, I’ve become somewhat distant.
Because all my thoughts seem to revolve around her.
Talking with her feels natural, like no time has passed at all. It’s easy, and I’m reminded of how close we once were in high school. I always considered Hendrix my best friend back then, but it was almost always Presley I would turn to when I needed someone to confide in.
That brief time in Malibu feels like ages ago, and so uncomplicated that it’s easy to fall back into a natural rhythm with her.
But we’re not kids anymore, and life is far from uncomplicated.
We’ve both grown up. We live on opposite sides of the country. She has a boyfriend, and I’m…
I’m just some random guy.
“You know what I mean,” Jonas presses, raising an eyebrow at me. “You’ve been hiding in your office and?—”
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I don’t even remember leaving it there. Presley’s name flashes across the screen, alerting me that I have a new text.
It’s been two days since we’ve spoken.
Two days since that phone call when I told her she should break up with her boyfriend…
I reach for it, hoping to swipe it off the table before Jonas can see.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims. “Why is Presley Creed texting you?”
Too late.
After I started talking to Pres, I had no idea how to explain it to Jonas, so I did what I do best and avoided the conversation altogether. I told myself I would bring it up if our texts turned into something more. But after two days of radio silence between Pres and me, I was beginning to think that our resurrected friendship was finally dead, and there would be no reason to tell Jonas.
But now it seems I have some explaining to do.
“After Hendrix came to the club, my therapist suggested I write him a letter,” I start to explain. “For closure or whatever.”
He stares at me blankly. “And so you took that to mean you should text his sister instead? I didn’t even know you had any of their numbers.”
I rub the back of my neck. “When I got a new number years ago, I saved all of them for some reason. When Sabine suggestedthe letter thing, I was going to write Hendrix a message, then delete it. But instead, I ended up texting Pres.”
“On purpose?”
I nod. “On purpose.”
