Page 117 of Flirting with 40

She offers me a half-assed smile with a waggle of her eyebrows, but it doesn’t help with the sudden panic clawing its way up my throat.

“Any man who makes me this kind of crazy, jealous bitch . . . I mean, do I want that? Do I want to be that person?”

“Maybe that means he’s worth it.”

“You’re just arguing to fit your narrative,” I say while secretly clinging to her words.

“Think what you will.”

But there’s a nonchalance to Kelsie’s words and demeanor that almost makes me want to fight to prove her wrong. If anything, my best friend is never blasé. She’s passionate and in-your-face and this change of demeanor has me digging my heels in strictly to make a point.

Or make myself believe my own lies.

“So, what?” I set my glass down and cross my arms over my chest. “You’re telling me I should boil bunnies and go crazy over him, and you wouldn’t be worried?”

Her sigh is slow and frustrated. “That isn’t what I’m saying Ms. Dramatic. What I’m saying is with everything that’s happened, cut yourself some slack. Being scared is normal.”

“Look, I was married to a man who always put work first . . . do I really want to go that route again? I mean—”

“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard. What’s your next one because I have all night to debunk every excuse you’re going to throw my way.” She plops down on the couch across from me. “You like the guy. You want to explore what else there could be. It’s okay to admit it, to want it, while also being a bit overwhelmed by it.”

“You aren’t supposed to be encouraging me. You’re supposed to be telling me I hit it, I quit it, and now I need to move on.”

“I’ve never seen you like this before. Defensive when you want to believe what I’m saying.” With a shake of my head, I start to reject her words when she holds up her hand to stop me. “I’ve never seen you so miserable. You’ve been moping around all week. You’re angry and cynical when you’re typically not. You refuse to talk about The Bachelor with me because you say love is stupid and can’t be felt that quickly.”

“It’s true.”

“You’re living proof that’s a lie.”

“For Christ’s sake, Kels—”

“He made you happy. He made you come alive. Why would you throw that chance away because of some stupid notion that you aren’t good enough for him because you had one minor meltdown over him having to break a date with you?”

“He’s supposed to be a rebound,” I whisper, the fight I was putting up now nonexistent with her words.

“Oh, Blakely. Who am I to say he was just a rebound when it seems without him you fall flat?”

“You know more than anything that a man should not make or break the person you are. I let Paul do that to me. Never again.”

“But Slade’s not Paul and you’re fighting against him as if he is. Slade doesn’t have to make or break you as a woman, but he sure as hell can help you shine.” She moves to sit next to me, her smile soft and knowing as she places a hand on my knee and squeezes. “Slade helped you shine. He made you see yourself in the same light I see you in but could never get you to believe was and is real.”

“I’ve made a royal mess of this, haven’t I?”

“Kind of.” She scrunches her nose as I flop back on the cushions.

“Great. I’m supposed to be this strong, new Blakely, and instead I’m the old one: whiny, indecisive, insecure, and lonely.”

“You’re going to slip sometimes. That’s to be expected.”

“But I slipped with someone I care about.”

“There’s a surefire way to fix it,” she says as she rises from the couch, walks over to where my phone is, and tosses it onto the couch beside me. “I’m gonna get going. I think there’s a call you need to make.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Slade

“Hello?”