I think about writing back to my ex. Or maybe a better idea is to reply to Logan’s silly Post-it note.
I think about how much easier it would be to stop feeling anything altogether.
But I don’t send any messages tonight. I just turn off the light, and hope that sleep comes quickly. Before I start missing someone I’m not even allowed to want.
Because, truly, the last thing I need right now is something that gets messy.
Why couldn’t Logan and I have just had a one-night stand and left it at that?
Chapter Eighteen
LOGAN
The hotel room is dark, with the exception of the streetlight glow slipping through the crack in the curtain. The AC unit hums inconsistently, coughing out cold air, like it’s working too hard for too little reward.
I should be out with the guys.
They’re probably half a pitcher deep at some chain bar right now, celebrating our win with loud music and loaded fries. But I told them I was wiped. Blamed the travel. The heat. My back tightening up.
Truth is, I just didn’t want to go.
Not when I knew I’d spend the whole time thinking about someone who wasn’t there.
I slip out the side entrance of the hotel with a bottle of cheap beer from the vending machine fridge and sit on the curb out back. It’s quiet. Just the buzz of crickets and the occasional car rolling by.
I unlock my phone and hover over Cassie’s name in my contacts, which I’ve only had since asking Jackson. I felt silly asking him. But I just wanted to chat with her. Nonchalantly. Like we’ve done a few times.
I haven’t messaged her yet. Not even a dumb joke or emoji. Nothing.
But now, my thumb taps it. Just to see it. Her photo. The way her smile crinkles up at the corners, like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
I should leave it alone.
Instead, I switch over to the voice memo app. Hit record.
There’s a pause before I speak.
“…Hey.”
My voice is low. Rough. I clear my throat.
“I miss you already. That’s dumb, right? It’s only been twelve hours. I keep wondering if you’re making dinner tonight or if you wore that ridiculously soft hoodie again. The one that smells like vanilla and whatever conditioner you use.”
I laugh under my breath. Stupid.
“I shouldn’t be thinking about this. About you. But I am. You’re just…in my head, Cass. Way more than you should be.”
I sit in silence after that. Just breathing. Then I hit stop.
The message sits on my screen like it’s daring me to do something with it.
I stare at it for a long beat, then I swipe left and delete it.
I lean back against the brick wall behind me and take a long sip of beer. It tastes like regret and carbonation.
In the distance, someone’s car alarm chirps.
I close my eyes and try not to imagine her in that little house, curled up under a blanket, wondering where I am.
