Pulling on my big-girl panties, I open the door, praying he’s not naked or jerking off. Why on earth did that thought just pop into my head? My brain is really fried today.
“I said go away,” a fully clothed Callan says from where he’s spreadeagled on his bed, semi-propped up against a mountain of pillows. As he tosses a ball into the air, I notice he still hasn’t unpacked any boxes.
“Not until I say what I came here to say.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” He continues throwing the ball in the air, avoiding looking at me.
“Tough.” I knot my hands in front of me. “I owe you an apology. A huge one.” He still doesn’t look at me or give any indication he heard me, but I know he did, so I forge on. “I’m ashamed I made such judgy assumptions. It was unforgivable, and it’s not how I think of you. I tend to overanalyze things, and I got all up in my head.”
“Ya think?” he snarls, casting a snide glance in my direction as he finally lowers the ball to his lap.
“I’m really sorry, Callan. I didn’t mean it.” I hope he can hear it in my voice and see it on my face because I am truly remorseful. I pride myself on being kind to others, and I was not kind to Callan earlier.
A muscle pops in his jaw. “Do you honestly think I would suggest we pretend to date and then fuck around behind your back? You think that low of me?”
“No! The opposite is the truth. You’re not like any other guy I’ve met, and I know you wouldn’t do that.”
“Why say it then?”
“I don’t know.” I could offer reasons, but it doesn’t excuse my actions. “Could we just have a do-over? Please?”
“I don’t think so.” He averts his eyes and resumes tossing the ball in the air.
“I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you opened your mouth to spew such shite.”
“I feel horrible,” I truthfully admit. “Please reconsider.”
Tension bleeds into the air until he speaks. “Close the door on your way out, Astrid.”
I know when I’ve lost the battle, so I respect his wishes and walk away, shutting the door after me with a heavy heart.
16
CALLAN
It hurts that Astrid thinks so little of me because what she thinks matters. What have I done to give her the impression I’m some sex-crazed hound who needs to hump everything in sight? I didn’t think she was the kind of girl to rush to make assumptions, but maybe I’ve misread her.
No, I don’t think I have. It took balls to come over here and say what she said, especially when I was a right moody prick. She seemed genuine, and I wanted to forgive her, but my stubborn arse wouldn’t let me. Pulling myself up against the headboard, I throw the ball to the side and lean my head back, sighing.
I wonder if Gwen said something to Astrid, and that’s where this is coming from. That one is a handful, and I hope Scott knows what he’s got himself into. Then again, I’m mentally chastising Astrid for jumping to judgy assumptions, and haven’t I just done the same? If Gwen is Astrid’s best friend, she’s solid because Astrid wouldn’t hang around with someone who wasn’t.
Fuck it.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I shove my phone in the pocket of my tracksuit bottoms before grabbing my runners and keysand quietly opening my bedroom door. It’s late, but this can’t wait. I’ve upset her, and I need to make this right now.
Everyone is in bed, so I tiptoe carefully along the landing and down the stairs, making sure to edge around the creaky steps so I don’t make a sound. At the front door, I slip my socked feet into my runners and creep out of the house, hightailing it towards Astrid’s house.
All the lights are out, but as I sneak around the side of the Nevan house, I spot a dim glow radiating from Astrid’s bedroom, and I silently fist pump the air. I hoped she might still be up, stewing over everything that’s happened between us in the last twenty-four hours like I’ve been.
Grasping the thick trunk of the tree under Astrid’s window, I begin climbing, grateful there are no neighbors on this side of the property to report a prowler. I almost slide several times, and I’ve picked up a few splinters in my fingers, but I’m patting myself on the back when I reach the sprawling branch that nestles against her window relatively unscathed.
I don’t look down as I shimmy across the sturdy branch, praying it doesn’t buckle under my weight. Astrid is in bed, holding a book in front of her face, so she hasn’t noticed me yet. A lamp on her bedside locker is the only light in the semi-darkness. I don’t want to freak her out and risk her screaming. Can’t imagine her da would be best pleased to find me dangling off the tree outside his daughter’s bedroom.
I send her a message, letting her know I’m outside, relieved when she immediately checks her phone.
She bolts upright in the bed, dropping her book on the duvet and staring out the window with wide eyes. Her mouth hangs open as I rap lightly on the window, praying she’ll let me in. It takes her a few seconds to jump into action, throwing back the covers and padding to the window in her short pajamas.
