“I’m not much for expressing myself,” I deadpan, drawing a laugh from my nearly-as-snarky-as-me friend.
The knot in my chest loosens just enough that I can take an even breath.
“We should go,” I say, starting to clean up the mess I made. How I wish cobbling my life back together could be half as straightforward.
“I’m driving home.” Piper pushes back from the table. “You look like you’ve been through acage fight.”
“A cage fight would have been more fun. At least those have a clear winner.”
We walk out into the summer afternoon, and as I fill my lungs with the clean mountain air, I feel my legs solidify beneath me. One step and then another, a growing sense of determination carries me toward the parking lot and then back home. Away from a man who thinks he still gets to decide what I deserve. And toward one who might be exactly what I need.
22
JEREMY
I knockon Avah’s door at eight fifteen Tuesday night like a man with a plan. One which involves standing on the metal landing in this alley hoping she’ll let me in. And trying to figure out why the fuck she’s ghosting me in the first place.
She hasn’t returned my calls or texts, which progressed from a casual hey to just checking in to what can only be described as digital groveling.
Pathetic doesn’t begin to cover it.
I should know what we are, and also what we aren’t. More than fuck buddies, but not much else apparently. I shouldn’t feel slighted by radio silence. She doesn’t owe me anything. We’re casual, which is fine.
Except the nerdy kid who once had a crush on the most popular girl in high school is back, operating on the same naive frequency he always has. Wanting to believe that if I show up in the right way she’ll want me the way I want her. Bottom line: all the money in the world can’t tamp down the proclivity to be a total sap.
I knock again. “I can feel you glaring at me through the door, Avah.”
There’s a beat, and then the deadbolt turns. She yanks the door open with the kind of force that suggests she’s pissed as hell. That makes two of us.
“I guess your billions can’t buy the ability to take a hint.”
Does she truly believe her attitude can push me away? Clearly, she hasn’t figured out that I’m so far gone there might not be anything to bring me back.
She’s wearing an oversized Skylark Fun Festival T-shirt and cotton shorts, her blonde hair gathered into a knot on top of her head with escaped strands framing either side of her face. She’s wearing no makeup, and I hate the dark smudges under her eyes.
I want her with a determination I’ve never shown to any deal. I want her standing in this doorway with her bare feet and her messy hair and those blue eyes that dare me to keep showing up.
Double fucking dog dare, because I’m all in.
“Can I come in?”
She holds my gaze, and I hold my breath. Finally, she steps aside with a beleaguered sigh, like she can’t decide whether I’m more inconvenient or annoying.
“I’m having Cheerios for dinner. Want some?”
“Are they Honey Nut?”
Her lips twitch. “Duh.”
“Then hell yeah.”
She pulls two mismatched bowls from the cabinet, pours the cereal, adds milk from a half-gallon jug, and carries everything to the scuffed oak table in the corner. I take the chair across from her and pick up my spoon.
We eat in silence, Avah dunking the Os into the milk with the back of her spoon before scooping them up, attention riveted on her bowl.
There is no earthly reason something that can best be described as OCD-adjacent should be so captivating. I’m a grown man losing his mind over a womandunking Cheerios.
“Are you going to ask me why I’m being a bitch?”
