JAKE AND I started hanging out regularly for us being new friends. Our work schedules didn’t conflict, and our class schedules were similar enough, so we were together more often than I expected. We still had our own lives where our interests didn’t overlap—I liked to spend my Saturday afternoons reading or writing, and he liked to spend them at car meets—which was something I needed after almost a year of keeping to myself. We were perfectly in sync, and it was working out just fine.
For a while.
It was clear early on that he wanted more, but I just wasn’t ready. At first, he accepted that with ease, but after some time, I started to worry that he might be growing impatient. It wasn’t anything he said or did necessarily. It was the hint of disappointment I’d see in his eyes. The look of rejection when I’d pull out of his grasp and the pang of guilt that settled in my stomach when I realized it was me who caused it.
Jake was nice. He was caring and thoughtful. He always remembered my schedule and grabbed me a coffee when hestopped for one. And he was handsome, with goals and dreams, plans to travel and get out of the town we were in. The problem wasn’t with him; it was with me, and even I was growing tired of it.
One summer night, I decided I was done stringing him along. Not that I ever meant to—I just knew I couldn’t give my heart away when it belonged to someone else. But the wine had soured sitting on the shelf. It was time for a new pour. The in-between we’d been living in wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to me, so that night, I would offer to make things official.
I wore a cotton black halter top—one that dipped low in the front and barely covered my back, showing off the lack of a bra underneath. My hair was down in loose, summer waves, the way I knew Jake liked it most. I wanted him to remember how I looked on the night I would accept his invitation to be his girlfriend.
And it would’ve happened, too, had he shown up in time.
I was waiting at The Brewery for him to get off work, eager to see him and finally lift the veil. To finally kiss those lips with a seal of approval instead of tortured regret.
And that’s when the worst part of my past walked in.
Enzo spotted me from across the bar like a lion spotting its prey. Only he wasn’t strong and intimidating like a lion. He was small and cowardly in my eyes. Still the same boy I had left behind, only in a man’s body now.
He walked over to me slowly, a cocky, smug grin on his face, as if he knew me. But he didn’t know me. Not anymore.
“Sydney, Sydney, Sydney.” He shook his head. “Drinking underage. Tsk tsk.”
I looked him up and down with the coldest stare I could muster. “What do you want, Enzo?” I drank my beer, completely unfazed by his presence, and I loved how it felt. I loved how my hands didn’t get clammy and my heart didn’t race. I loved how I didn’t feel angry or jaded. I loved how much I didn’t care whether he existed.
“What brings you to this lovely establishment?”
I turned to him then, ready to seize my opportunity to deliver the sting he deserved. Enzo could play it cool all he wanted—entitled narcissist that he was, he was upset that I’d left him. And a tiny, immature part of me wanted to see him squeal.
“I’m waiting for my boyfriend. He’s a bodybuilder.” I gave him a smug smirk and watched as the courage fled his face, and his blue eyes lost their twinkle. “Care to join us?”
I didn’t care that it was a slight lie; it was true enough. Jake was just about my boyfriend and he could easily pass for a bodybuilder. I ignored the little alarm that went off in my belly, telling me to back off. I wanted to see him hurt. I wanted to see him squirm at my happiness right there in front of me.
He smiled, feigning confidence. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose. Just came over to say hello.”
“Great.” I gave him a coy smile. “Hello, and goodbye. Look at that, same breath.” I turned in my chair, giving him my back.
He waited a moment, stunned by my stony demeanor, before he turned around and walked away.
I thought that was it. I thought I had made it through—had passed the test of surviving the worst run-in in history and landed on my feet. But a few steps into his departure,he turned around and hit me at my weakest point. My Achilles’ heel. My fucking kryptonite.
“Oh, that’s what I meant to tell you.” He walked back over, but I didn’t turn around.
“E was asking for you.” The words were a snake’s hiss off his tongue.
My heart stopped in my chest, and I visibly froze. My hands became clammy, and my grip tightened around the glass in my hand.
“Yeah, he asked me to invite you to his party this weekend. Said he tried to text you, but you changed your number or something.”
My nostrils flared as I bore the pain the sentiment brought. The idea that E had asked for me, reached out for me, but I wasn’t there to be found.
“Welp,” Enzo shrugged. “Guess I’ll tell him you’re busy then,” he said, and he walked away.
I didn’t want to answer. I wanted to remain cold and in control, unaffected by Enzo and his disruptive presence. But I was affected. And I wasn’t in control. Not even a little bit.
“When,” was all I said, and I didn’t turn around.
He spun to face me and said, “Saturday.”
