Page 280 of Mad Girl

So I grabbed the cereal box from your hand and went back to fixing my breakfast, painfully aware of your lingering gaze. Watching. Reaching out to me. Trying to tug me back.

“I should’ve stayed and talked to you that night,” you whispered, much closer now, your breath tickling my ear. “I should’ve stayed, no matter what. I’m sorry.”

Why—whenever you apologized—did those two little words crash through me, knocking down all my defenses?

Slowly, I lowered the cereal box. “Funny how you only want me when you think I’m about to make a move on someone else.”

You held my gaze, yours extra blue and intense. Tortured. “I’ve wanted you so long I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“I screwed up, okay? I handled it all wrong. But I still want to be with you. Give me another chance.”

“Are you kidding? Right after you jumped into bed with someone else?”

You leaned forward, like maybe you hadn’t heard me correctly. “When did I jump into bed with someone else?”

“Last night, Casey. Someone texted you, and you left to meet them. Right?”

Your eyes drifted closed. “I did meet someone—yes. This guy from school asked if I wanted to meet for a drink. He’s from London, and we have loads in common. We chatted for a while, but then we parted ways. I swear. I haven’t properly been with anyone in ages.”

I crossed my arms. “Oh, yeah? What about Jake?”

Your head snapped back. For a second or two, you stared at me, stunned speechless. “How do you know about Jake?”

“Maybe the better question is: why don’t I know about Jake?”

Your jaw twitched. “So you and Michael did more than have a cuddle last night, didn’t you?”

“Don’t put this on Michael. It’s not his fault you neglected to tell me about this guy. Oh, wait,” I said with a sharp laugh. “That’s right. You did tell me about him once. Your hookup buddy? With the red hair? And the tattoos? And the eyes like warm honey?”

You winced. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about him, but I worried you wouldn’t understand.”

I wanted to be more mad about this, but how could I? When I’d never told you about Michael for the same reason? “It sounds like you never planned on telling me about him.”

“I did. It ranked quite high on my list of things to discuss with you, I promise. This past summer was the first time I’ve seen Jake since before you and I met. He’s usually off traveling the world. I only saw him in England over the summer because he’d been injured backpacking up a mountain somewhere, and he’d been ordered to keep off his leg as much as possible. I haven’t spoken to him in months. He means nothing to me.”

“Someone you’ve regularly hooked up with—for years—means nothing to you?”

“No. I don’t—I obviously don’t mean nothing. I care about him—of course I do, he’s my friend—but I have no romantic feelings for Jake. Hooking up means something different when it’s between two guys. There doesn’t need to be any sort of emotional connection involved. In fact, most of the time there isn’t.”

“I might believe that if Jake were some stranger you met on campus, but he’s someone you grew up with, Casey. Someone who knows you better than anyone knows you here in Boston. What if I told you I’d been hooking up with Michael for the last few years? Would you believe he and I could hook up without sharing an emotional connection?”

“Have you been hooking up with Michael?” you asked, something bright, sharp, and possessive flaring in your eyes.

My stomach dipped. “You know I haven’t.”

“I don’t, actually. I know I’ve caught your head in his lap twice now. I know he’s jealous of all the time we spend together. I know you’ve been dragging your thumb down his lip the whole time I’ve known you—and every time I watch you do that, by the way, I feel a little stab”—you jabbed at your heart—“right here.”

“How do you think I felt when I learned you were hanging out with this Jake guy all summer while you texted me things like, I miss you so much I can hardly bear it?”

“It wasn’t all summer. Just a handful of times.”

“Oh? Is he a handful, Casey? Is he a mouthful, too?”

“Okay,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Is he hot? He sounds hot. Let me see a picture of him.” I wanted a clearer mental image of this guy. Wanted to torture myself with it: this person you knew like I knew Michael. Only better, because you knew him in the flushed, feverish way I’d never known anyone.