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I rear back, surprised by how much his confession stings. “You slept with her?”
His hand reaches out for mine and he brings it to his lap so he can keep me close. Apparently, I look like I’m ready to bolt.
“Once, and I was drunk. It didn’t mean anything.”
“You were drunk? Oh, in that case…” I roll my eyes. “Did you use a condom? Jeez, you could have gotten her pregnant too.”
My response is over the top and too harsh even to my own ears. I see the exact moment in which they scrape his heart, and immediately, he drops my hand and scoots back to his stool.
“Connor—”
“Sorry, there was a line,” Shannon says, reclaiming her seat and separating us once again.
I’ve never hated her more than I do in this moment. Not only is she standing in the way of us reconciling, I can’t look at her without imagining the two of them together, naked. I scoot off my stool, suddenly feeling sick.
“I’m sorry, guys. I don’t feel so good. I’m gonna head home and—”
“I’ll come with you,” Connor says, standing immediately.
I don’t want him to come, and though I don’t say that out loud, it’s made pretty clear when I ignore him and shoot Shannon a small, feigned smile. “Good seeing you. Sorry to leave early.”
Then I head toward the door as fast as my feet can take me. I wasn’t lying to them. I do feel like crap. Too much rich food and drinks and regret churning in my stomach. I could throw up out on the curb, but I will myself to take a deep breath as I hold up my hand to wave down a cab. One pulls up immediately; fortunately, there was a line of them hovering near the busy restaurant. I go to reach for the door handle, but Connor beats me to it.
“I don’t—”
“Get in,” he says, cutting off my words with his authoritarian demand.
I slide into the back seat of the cab, but I’m not happy about it. I cross my arms and fold myself into the smallest possible arrangement of limbs my body can manage. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.
Connor tells the driver where to head and then turns to look out the window, ignoring me.
Good, I think, turning to look away.
It’s a tense ride home as our anger sits between us, keeping us apart. I clear my throat and then re-cross my arms. It’s like I want him to know I’m ignoring him. Hello, yes, don’t talk to me, but also know that I’m over here ignoring you. Connor, on the other hand, stays perfectly still. He’s better at this than I am.Chapter Twenty-EightConnorWhen we walk inside the townhouse, I toss my keys into the bowl on the table near the door. They crash against the ceramic and Natalie flinches at the sound. Her fear should soften my mood, but it doesn’t.
“Let’s have it out,” I demand, yanking off my jacket and tossing it on the hook. It doesn’t make it all the way on and slumps to the floor. The minor issue makes me even more angry as I reach down to pick it up again.
“What?” Natalie asks, turning back to glare at me.
“Yeah, c’mon. You’re mad that I slept with Shannon years ago.”
“I’m not mad,” she replies with an indignant huff. “I just don’t think I need to sit at a dinner while she flirts with you and act like everything is okay. It’s not!”
I brush past her, heading into the kitchen. I have no real goal except to keep my body in motion. It seems imperative that I burn off this excess energy. I feel like a live wire. “If you were paying attention, I was talking about you the whole night.”
“Oh yeah?” she shouts as she follows behind me. “Well I couldn’t pay attention because Shannon had me wedged so far out of the group I couldn’t even hear what you two were saying. I spent my night talking to the bartender.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Don’t huff like that. I didn’t do anything wrong. And would you stop walking? I hate having to chase after you. I’m the one who should be pacing angrily, not you!”
“I’m not angry.” Of course I am. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day and I don’t have this fight in me.”
I force myself to turn and look at her. We’re separated by the kitchen island and the couch. She stands near the sink. I stand near the coffee table. It’s a healthy distance.
“Yeah, well, neither do I, so I’m going to bed.” She retrieves a glass, banging the cupboard when she closes it.
“God you frustrate me sometimes.”
“How do you think I feel?!” she snaps.
She flips the faucet and the water rushes into her cup. She fills it to the brim, drinks half of it, and fills it up again. Then she bangs it down on the counter and water sloshes over the side. It’s all so ridiculous, I can’t help but crack. A light chuckle bursts out of me, and it’s the absolute wrong move because Natalie is still angry. She’s a firecracker ready to explode as I round the island toward her and step close.
