"Was his name Cole?"
I stop walking. "You know him?"
"Cole Crawford. Premed. Total douchebag. He dated Sutton junior year for, like, three months." Ashton leans against the wall. “The guy is pathetic."
"They looked pretty friendly."
“You talk to girls all the time.”
"I need to talk to her," I say. “I need to figure out what the hell is going on.”
"Yeah, you do. Talk to her when you're not completely unhinged, though. Don’t go in all pissed off and shit."
I've been waiting for two days, and it's killing me.
I need to know where we stand. If we're actually over. If there's any chance of fixing this.
And if we are over, fine. But I'm not going to sit back and watch her move on with some asshole who doesn't deserve her.
I get home with every intention of having that conversation, but she’s gone. Then I remember she’s working tonight.
At ten thirty, I hear the front door open—footsteps on the stairs.
I’m out of my room before I can talk myself out of it.
Sutton’s at her door, keys in hand. She’s wearing her work uniform—black pants and a white button-up that smells like grease and stale coffee. Her hair is falling out of its ponytail. She looks exhausted.
Beautiful.
Mine.
Except she’s not mine anymore.
Maybe.
Maybe I have a chance.
“We need to talk,” I say.
She turns, and the look on her face is pure exhaustion. “Declan, I’m tired. Can this wait?”
“No. It can’t.” I move closer. “Who is he?”
“He?”
“The guy who was all over you.”
She sighs and goes into her bedroom.
I follow because I need the answers to move on or fight.
“Who is he, Sutton?”
“Cole? The guy who wouldn’t leave me alone?”
“Didn’t look like he was bothering you. Looked like you were pretty comfortable with his hand on your knee.”
“Are you serious right now?” She turns to face me fully. “You’re going to accusemeof something?”
