They reached his door. He pulled out the contents of his pockets until he heard keys clink together, but then they weren’t in his hands. Where did they go?
Déjà grumbled beside him, and he steadied himself against the doorframe. He pressed his brow against the wood and shut his eyes, but that was a mistake because it made the feeling of helium in his head more acute.
Keys jingled and the door swung open. Hands pushed him inside. He flopped onto the bed and felt Déjà tug off his shoes.
This night was such a mistake, and now he’d never get to snuggle up to Micah while the man wore that soft, paint-stained sweatshirt. He made do with squeezing a pillow instead, and he must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes, sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. His breath was so foul he could smell it with his mouth closed. One of his earrings was jabbing him in the neck, and his head throbbed.
Paper rustled, and he rolled over. Déjà sat on the floor with one of his coffee table books, pursing her lips at the glossy spreads of conceptual art.
The evening came rushing back to him, and shame entered his body like a demon hungry for a host. “Why are you here?”
“Micah called me.” She glanced up. “I told you that. You don’t remember.”
He remembered enough. Too much. After pushing out of bed, he staggered into the bathroom. He took a much-needed shower, letting the hot water beat down on his neck. When he was finished, he pulled on pajamas and sat next to Déjà with a strong cup of coffee.
The highlights on her cheekbones glittered, and a tattoo of quartz crystals graced the side of her neck. She glanced at him. “Feeling better?”
“You’re so pretty. I’ve missed you.”
“You told me.”
“Sorry. I don’t remember that either.”
“‘Déjà, you’re so pretty and I love you and don’t deserve you.’Which is true.” She flipped a page in the book. “‘Déjà, I’m completely taken with Micah. We went to a cemetery and we didn’t kiss, but then we had phone sex, sort of, and he wears the cutest, frumpiest sweatshirts. I want him to give me hickies until I look like a peach someone repeatedly dropped on the floor.’”
Cosmo snorted. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m an absolute mess.”
“So nothing has changed in the last three years.”
“Truly, it has not.” His ache for her had faded, but it had a funny way of appearing suddenly and stabbing him in the heart when he least expected it. The chorus of a song, the sequins on a dress, a painting on the gallery wall… “Maraschino cherries.”
“What?”
“Maraschino cherries remind me of you. Because you always ask for three.”
“I haven’t been to that place forever. Have you?”
He shook his head. He craved their outrageous milkshakes, but it hadn’t seemed right to go there without Déjà. “Have you missed me at all?”
She closed the art book and pushed it away, but she didn’t stop staring at the space it had occupied. She’d never saved his feelings when it was something he needed to hear, but she was going to tell himno, and he shouldn’t have asked the question if he couldn’t handle the answer.
Sliding over, she pulled him into a hard hug. “So much.”
He pressed his forehead to her shoulder and held her tight. There were so many things he wanted to say and ask, and he couldn’t remember any of the conversation from before he fell asleep.
She pulled back. “What happened with Royce wasn’t your fault, okay?”
The scent of coffee liqueur on Royce’s breath, his rough and wrinkled hands all over Cosmo’s body – the memory made his stomach churn, and he fought back the urge to vomit. “I led him on.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“With all due respect, you can’t know that because you weren’t there. I invited him to drink with me. It was my idea. He tried to get me to eat something instead. I pounded back my cocktails and told him I needed love. It was one hundred percent my fault.”
“I heard you say ‘No! Stop!’ And he didn’t. Whatever led up to that point doesn’t matter. If someone says ‘stop,’ then you stop. That’s it, end of story.”
His jaw ached, nose stinging with sudden tears. “But why would Royce expect anything less than for me to put out when I’m… when I’m me?”
“Why do you hate yourself so much?”
