Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Yes.” I felt validated and sat up taller. “That’s a perfect example. She decided on her own not to take them, decided we weren’t going to try a third time, knew she was going to leave early, and she said nothing to me about it. I was fucking blindsided.”
“She feels bad about that.”
“But she still left, Blair. What was I supposed to do, beg her to stay? For what reason?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a small lift of her shoulders. “Maybe because you guys have feelings for each other?”
“We don’t have feelings for each other,” I scoffed. “We had a contract. We had rules. We had a start date and an end date. It was all fake. What do I care if she wants out sooner rather than later?”
“It was all fake at the beginning,” she said softly. “But hasn’t that changed?”
I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Part of me thought maybe it could change. But that was before she left.”
“So your ego is bruised—I get it. But if there’s anything to be salvaged,” Blair went on, moving to the edge of her seat and putting a hand on my knee, “don’t you think it’s worth a conversation?”
Their apartment door slammed loudly, and I felt like my skull had been crushed in it. I stood up. “I gotta go.”
“No, stay,” Blair implored. “You should eat something.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said, passing Griffin on my way out.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah. I’ll call you later. Thanks for letting me crash.”
Outside, I inhaled fresh air and walked to my car, which was parked down the street. I couldn’t wait to get home and brush my teeth, take a shower, crash. I wanted to sleep for a year, then wake up and not feel this throbbing in my head, this pit in my stomach, this ache inside my chest.
But instead of driving home, I found myself heading for the harbor. Angry about what I was doing, I clenched my jaw as I circled the parking lot at Bianca’s complex. Her car was there, and as I passed it, I remembered teasing her about all the shit in it. When I passed her end unit, I slowed down, but her blinds were shut and I couldn’t see inside.
Gripping the steering wheel tight, I pulled into a visitor spot and put my SUV in park. Then I sat there scowling at the gray water. Should I go in and talk to her? Demand to know if Blair was right? If there were real feelings between us? If there was something worth salvaging among the wreckage?
I nearly turned off the ignition when I caught myself.
No. Fuck that.
I’d told her from the very beginning that I wasn’t going to play games like this. Bianca had never been one to filter her thoughts around me—she always said exactly what she felt like saying. And what she’d said the other night could not have been more clear.
We were done.
I went home, let myself in, and plodded up the stairs, the sharp edges of my anger dissipating, replaced by a dull ache I told myself was the hangover and not missing Bianca. But I couldn’t resist going into the guest room and opening up all the dresser drawers—empty. As was the closet.
In the bedroom we’d shared, her nightstand held no stack of books. The drawer I’d given her in my dresser was cleaned out. In the bathroom, the earrings and ring were exactly where she’d left them Friday night. But there were no perfume bottles on the vanity, no shampoo and conditioner specially formulated for redheads in the shower, no girly products or cosmetics to be seen. As I’d hoped last night, she’d removed nearly every physical trace of herself.
Yet somehow, the entire place still smelled like her.
I got undressed and dragged myself into the shower, trying to scrub off the regret, the loneliness, the anger, the memory of her skin on mine.
After drying off, I hung up my towel on the back of the door, where a hook still held her towel. Immediately I grabbed it and held it to my face, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. Then I was disgusted with myself for doing it, and I threw the damn thing into the hamper.
In the bedroom, I pulled on boxer briefs and some sweatpants, shut the blinds, and crashed into bed, pulling the pillow over my head. Belatedly, I remembered that I’d meant to take some ibuprofen, but I was too exhausted to get up and do it.
Feeling like life had beaten me to a pulp, I fell asleep.
I woke up around one, went downstairs and ate some pasta that Bianca had made and left in the fridge, straight from the plastic container without even bothering to heat it up. Standing there at the counter, shirtless and barefoot, I saw the key Bianca had left on the island. With a fresh ache in my heart, I stuck it in the junk drawer and finished eating. Then I went right back to bed and pulled the covers over my head.