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“Yes, you will,” he says, smiling. Before I can enter my car, he adds, “And Sadie, it was nice to hear you laugh. The world needs to hear that more often.”

I knew tonight was going to suck. I’d prepared myself for it. But it’s not like we’re breaking up. This was never a relationship. I’m not telling her something she didn’t know from the beginning.

“Did you hear me?” Rachel asks, moving her face closer to mine as we sit at the corner of the bar. “I’m in love with you.” Her shiny, hopeful eyes search mine.

“I’m leaving for California in a couple months,” is my response, which might as well have been a slap. Because that’s what she looks like when her cheeks flare crimson. The color fades just as suddenly. But the emotion doesn’t.

I don’t know who’s more shocked. Me or her.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I didn’t hear her the first time. And I’m having a hard time believing I heard her correctly the second time.

“What’s in California?’

“Grad school. If I’m going to do anything on my own eventually, I need a master's. And I just found out I got accepted.”

“When did you find out? How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me this was a possibility? Have you been using me this whole time?” Rachel’s words become sharper with each question until the last feels like a blade.

“This was never supposed to be more than a friendship, remember? Casual. That was your word. And all I ever agreed to.” I attempt to de-escalate by keeping my voice even and calm. But that’s not what’s going on on the inside.

My heart is racing. I don’t want to make a scene. I don’t want to gain anyone’s attention. Especially that of a guy who thinks he has to intervene and play hero.

Rachel swallows visibly. “Why can’t I come with you? I have nothing tying me here. Emma won’t even be here; she’s leaving me too.” Her big eyes peer up at me, almost comically. “Jonathan, I love you.”

There’s no way she’s in love with me. Not because it’s barely been a month since we went out for beers and darts, but because she doesn’t know anything about me. Hell, Emma knows more about me than Rachel—bringing that up won’t help. Which makes what she’s saying…

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” She finishes the wine in her glass and sets it on the bar. Then waves down the bartender and orders a lemon drop, her go-to for getting drunk as quickly as possible. I have learned that much about her in this time. She has a tolerance. Can even stay sober. But when she wants to drink, there’s no off switch.

She’s a good time usually. The reason I’ve stuck around this long. A much-needed distraction. I’m more than a little relieved that we never hooked up that one night.

As soon as the lemon drop is in front of her, it’s emptied. She taps the counter to request a follow-up.

“You don’t love me, Rachel. I don’t know if you’re trying to keep someone in your life because you’re not comfortable being alone. Or because of whatever happened between you and Emma. But you don’t love me. You can’t.”

“What does this have to do with her? What did she tell you? I heard you talking while I was sick in bed. I was practically dying, and you two are having the best time, laughing. You’re always whispering together in the middle of the night. What did she tell you about me? Because whatever it is, she doesn’t know shit.”

I stare at her. I’ve recently become aware of Rachel’s vindictive side. I thought it might be an emotional reaction when she has too much to drink. But I’m now questioning if it’s who this woman truly is. Her eyes are glassy from the vodka and too much pride, or whatever’s causing each slicing word. A thousand paper cuts.

“We should go.” I stand and lay some bills on the bar, not caring if I’m overpaying.

Panic rushes into her voice as she blinks back tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Please don’t… please.”

Rachel starts sniffling.

“Let’s not do this here.”

Rachel opens the door to the back of the cab. I look over the driver’s seat. Is she seriously refusing to sit next to me? She climbs in the back and moves my gym bag out of the way. If she’s expecting me to beg her to sit up here, she definitely doesn’t know me.

Ten minutes into the drive, she says, “I’m sorry. It surprised me. That’s all. I’d like to still see you, if you don’t hate me.”

I catch her eye in the rearview mirror.

“I told you I’m not good at this,” she confesses pitifully.

I let out a breath. “We’ll talk. Okay? Make sure we’re on the same page.”

She nods.