I wince. I’ve never heard him sound so bitter, and it’s all my fault. Time to go back to the original plan—the one in which I apologize, grab myself a cookie, and head back to my low-key life.Jesus, I can’t believe I’m actually about to do this.
“Listen…” My fingers fidget with the edge of my glasses. “On Thursday, I was…”
I pause. There’s no way I’m mentioning my mom and her issues. Could I blame it on PMS? An ingrown toenail, maybe?
“On Thursday, I was—”
“I don’t want to talk.”
I slam my hands down on the table. “Then shut up and let me finish! Thursday was a bad day for me. And yes, sure, I had alreadyasked you a million times to crawl out of my ass, but still. I should never have spoken to you like that.” I take a gulp of air. “And you know what? I’m sorry.”
Mission accomplished!
I reach for his coffee, wincing as the icy liquid hits my tongue.
“Fuck! How many sugars did you put in this thing?”
Donovan pushes the cup away to the far end of the table, and I lean back, pleased with how I handled things.
He lets himself settle deeper into his seat, mirroring me. “That feel good?”
“Yes.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“This is the part where you say, ‘Apology accepted, Carrie.’?”
But Donovan just sits there staring at me, even when I make circles in the air, urging him on.
“Apology accepted, Carrie,” he finally deadpans. “We’re good. You can go back to your amazing little life, and don’t worry—I won’t get in your way.”
“Great!”
“Great.”
We eyeball each other for a minute. This is the part where I should stand up and leave, but I can’t seem to look away. There’s something in his gaze that’s niggling at me.
“What’s up?” I ask softer than intended.
His fingers grip the leather seat.
“I accepted your apology,” he says, gritting his teeth. “What more do you want from me?”
Good question, Wolinski. Guess I’m a sucker for a little self-harm.
Until today, I assumed his dumbass mission was just that—a dumbass mission. But looking at his crumpled face now, I get the sense it runs much deeper.
“You know, if you’d been a little more transparent, maybe I would’ve been a little more inclined to help you out.”
“Sucks to be me, I guess. Looks like I blew it.”
“Why does it matter so much?” I ask, suddenly curious. “Learning how to be a good boyfriend, I mean. You lonely?”
“What?” He bursts out laughing. “No—but thanks for the free therapy.”
Urgh…
“Or maybe,” I continue, “you’re in love with a girl who doesn’t vibe with your whole… attitude of—”
