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Setting down her coffee cup mid-sip, she says, “I’m sorry. What?”
“I didn’t ask her about it.”
“Aiden!” She reaches over and smacks my arm. “You can’t do that!”
Rubbing the part of my arm that she hit, I don’t say anything. I don’t understand why she’s freaking out. Did she miss the part where I saw everything I needed to see?
She hasn’t shut her mouth, still looking at me like I’m a psycho. “Aiden, you need to call her and sort this out. Right now.”
She doesn’t get it. “Em, I saw the texts. They’re definitely getting back together. He was hard and wanted her to feel something—I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s probably his cock.”
She frowns for a moment before she shakes her head. “Gross. But yes, you need to call her because the last time I talked to her, she was telling me a very different story.”
“Wait,” I say, perking up. “What did she say to you?” Nothing Em says will erase what I saw, but I’m still desperate to know.
I’m pathetic.
“Not a lot,” she answers casually. “She said something about meeting up with him once she got back, but she wasn’t looking forward to it and definitely did not plan on feeling anything of his—if you catch my drift.”
“When did she say this?”
“At The Patch,” Em says as she walks to the coffee maker and tops off her cup. “You were busy talking to Sam, I think.”
Of course, I was. “Shit.”
“Yeah, exactly.” She brings her eyes level with mine. “Call her.”
“Fuck, fine.” I grab my phone out of my pocket and click on Claire’s name. Part of me hopes Em is right, but another part of me doesn’t want that at all.
Because if Em is right, I royally fucked up.
68
Claire
I’ve nearly eaten myself into a food coma. Skipping dinner last night with a splash of emotional eating has left the three plates it took to bring out my breakfast almost completely empty.
How could Aiden hate a place with such good breakfast food? In New York, my breakfast is always something I eat on the go. I need to be able to hold it in one hand so I can get to where I’m going with the other, and I need to be able to eat it fast.
I’m not sure if taking time to sit down and overindulge in a southern-style breakfast is just a Florida thing, but after everything that has happened recently, it’s the highlight of my trip. I’m sure if Aiden had eaten with me this morning, this breakfast would have been enough to shift his views on the Sunshine State.
The thought of him brings back that creeping tightness in my chest, and I do my best to shut it down.
Do not think about Aiden Lewis.
Do not think about Aiden Lewis.
Do not think about Aiden Lewis.
My mantra doesn’t work—probably because his name is in it.
Refocusing my thoughts, I try to plan out everything I’ll need to do as soon as I get home. I’ll miss my classes today and likely part of the day tomorrow, so there’s no doubt that I’ll have some catching up to do.
My phone buzzes on the table next to me, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of the name.
Aiden Lewis
“No,” I say out loud. Declining the call, I mutter, “Screw you, Aiden.”
