“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because the girl I know is a talented graphic designer who is ambitious about her career, has her own apartment, her own life. I wanted you to find a guy, Evie. Not lose yourself in one.”
I can feel myself starting to tremble. “I haven’t lost myself.”
“No?” she asks. “So when was the last time you opened your laptop?”
I open my mouth to reply but then close it. She’s got a point. “I can’t remember…”
“When was the last time you were anywhere that wasn’t here or his bedroom?”
More silence. Silence that hurts. I hadn’t even thought about it like this.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Evie,” she says softly. “I’m just trying to be your friend. I don’t want you to go from one cage to another. Even if this cage is much more comfortable.”
I want to argue. Tell her she’s completely off base and doesn’t understand what Dawson and I have. But honestly, some of what she says is true. Not all of it. She doesn’t know how incredible I feel when he touches me or how he quiets my anxiety.
But the part about me not working and not leaving the house? Yeah, I can’t argue with that.
“So…what are you saying?” I whisper. “That I should leave him?”
“God, no. I’m saying you should be his girlfriend. Not just his—” She waves her hand. “Whatever this kinky thing is you two have going on.”
I choke on a laugh as tears begin to form in my eyes. “It’s not—”
“It’stotallykinky.” She grins. “I can tell by the way you’re blushing. Look, I’m just trying to make sureEvieis still in there somewhere. My friend who obsesses about font spacing and color palettes.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Oh, she’s still here.”
Reese comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Then maybe let her out of the house once in a while?”
I nod, sniffling. “I will.”
“And maybe—just maybe—finish that logo for the publishing company that was due two days ago?”
“Oh, shit.” My jaw drops. “Oh, shit.”
Reese laughs. “And there she is.”
Once she’s gone,I sit in the kitchen for a long time.
Have I really just swapped one obsession for another?
The thought pains me, and I feel my anxiety clawing its way back. My chest is tight, and I’m panting hard, on the verge of a full spiral when I hear Dawson’s truck pull into the driveway. He’s home early.
I’m relieved but also panicked. I don’t want him to see me this way.
He walks through the door, all smiles, but the second he sees me, his expression changes. His bold confidence shifts to concern, and he crosses the kitchen in three strides, cupping his hands around my face.
“What is it? What’s wrong, baby?”
“Reese was here,” I say softly, my voice weak. “She…said some things.”
“What things?” he replies, his voice rough.
Reluctantly, I go over it with him. As I’m talking, I glance up at him, watching his face carefully, waiting for anger. But to my surprise, he just listens. The same way he listened to my anxiety spiral the morning after.
He’s patient. Present. And gently strokes my cheeks with his thumb as I ramble on.
When I finish, he’s quiet for a moment, then he pulls a chair up and lifts me into his lap.
