“I told you. I have several jobs, but I’m mainly a copy editor. I spend a lot of time buried in books. I just started a new job writing copy for the news, actually. So thanks for the tip.”
Well, we shared that in common anyway. “That’s cool. I love to read.”
“What do you like to read?” She asked it like we were having a casual conversation.
This was starting to feel too cozy, and I hadn’t intended to let myself fall under her spell again. I wasn’t sure I could ever trust her after what she’d done, and she’d left me a psychological quagmire to clean up. So I inhaled and said, “Elizabeth.”
“Yeah.” That flat tone again. I figured she already knew what I was going to say next.
“I don’t think we should do this.”
“Okay.” She didn’t even ask why. I hardly knew the first thing about her, and yet this felt like a breakup, like a goodbye before we’d properly said hello.
I knew what made her laugh, said a voice in my head. I knew how her awkwardness somehow matched mine. I knew what she tasted like, and I knew how her back arched when she came.
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Those were not the first things I wanted to know about anyone.
“I might see you around.” Maybe in a few weeks, I’d feel differently.
“Well, good luck with your new job.”
We said our goodbyes, and then with a finality that left me unsatisfied, I disconnected the call.
Odds were, I’d never see her again.
Chapter Nine
Elizabeth
“What’s done can’t be undone.”
MacBeth
Despite the chill in the air, I decided to walk to my new job, which left me cranky because these streets now held a ghost of a memory of that night Evan had walked me home before he revealed himself to be delusional, before he’d called and let me know I’d lost any chance of resuscitating the corpse of our prematurely deceased romance.
Since I had to cross the Downtown Mall, I popped in to see Chelsea at the coffee shop. She looked me over and gave me the thumbs up.
“Have you seen your boyfriend?” I asked, as she sealed the lid on my complimentary latte.
“Not since Friday.” She kept her eyes on her work, not giving away a single expression that might show too much interest in this topic. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Hmmph,” I said, side-eying her. While I’d been on the phone with Evan on Friday, Chelsea had been facing her own consequences. She’d run into Basil after work at the wine shop, and somehow he’d tricked her into a dinner date. To everyone’s surprise, she’d agreed.
“What?” She wiped down the steamer. “He’s not.”
“Ten bucks he makes a coffee run sometime today.”
“If that’s how he wants to spend his money, I can’t stop him.” She called out the name inked on the cup, then looked at me. “And have you heard from your boy toy?”
I still couldn’t believe Evan had thought I was someone else—for two weeks. I’d tried to reframe our entire conversation from his perspective, and I understood why it might be weird, but I’d confessed it all. Everything I’d said after we left the bar had been honest. Our attraction had felt genuine. Was he carrying out some high school fantasy? Did he even like me? “I think I’m the villain in his story.”
“Fuck him if he can’t take a joke.”
I winced. To Evan, it hadn’t been a joke, had it? “I’m a little nervous he might’ve taken a job at the station where I’m working. I don’t know if I can handle that.”
“Oof. That’s what? A fifty-fifty chance?” She leaned against the counter. “You didn’t ask?”
My head fell back with an exasperated sigh. That phone call had been seven kinds of fucked without chatting about our jobs. “It doesn’t matter. Even if he’s at the other station, he’ll be wandering around town. What am I going to do once he moves here?”
