“Come on. Please. I know I’m wound up. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.”
How was it supposed to go?
“We can go and get food or something and get out of this goddamn apartment. I drove all the way here—even though I know that isn’t an excuse either. I’m sorry, Ana.”
The way he said my name sent shivers up my spine, just like it always did. Stupid body. Stupider brain for even considering …
“Fuck.”
“No,” I repeated. “You can stay out there if you want, but you aren’t coming in. I am not letting you in again.”
I couldn’t. No matter what the next consequence. How many more could there be?
Bad luck.
The ex of all exes on my doorstep.
A curse coming back to haunt me …
I had done this.
Music on the turntable went on until, finally, the record caught on lyrics of heartbreak and redemption. The needle sent out a whine to be adjusted back to the beginning again, yet I didn’t move toward it. I remained frozen as the world waited with bated breath for my next decision, which I wasn’t ready to make.
“Fine,” Dom muttered. “Then, I’ll be right here.”
“Fine,” I whispered right back, turning around as if I was facing him to say he hard words. Only, I shut my eyes. I pressed my forehead against the door. He’d be right there.
So would I.
But I would not cry. I told myself so as I hid farther into the apartment. I told myself so as I walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind me, as if he could follow me. Then, tears began to stream down my face. They caught on my lashes and let loose with broken, heaving sobs, all while I slowly took care of myself, like I always did. I cleansed my face. I patted my skin dry. I moisturized, not looking into my puffy red eyes as I soothed them with cream.
But I would not cry.
Even if I already was.
I did not cry, and I would not cry.
Not over him.
Not again.
4
SUMMER
There was an out-of-owner awkwardly trying to fit in at the bar. It wasn’t working.
In Barnett, everyone either knew you or assumed you were an older college student, trying and failing to look like you belonged. Plus, Bar was the only bar in town. It had the most mediocre drinks and the best trivia night, and if you weren’t there for either of those things, it was noticeable. Every glance I took back the guy, however, was another time I was starting to imagine just how tonight would go if he wasn’t just some random guy who clearly didn’t belong.
His arms would loop, strong and steady, around me so that I didn’t fall off my barstool, unlike the last time I attempted trivia, and ended up I soaking my sorrows in gin.
Only then, I wasn’t wearing a micro-miniskirt, and the only way I planned to make a fool out of myself today was from how excited I was that the categories finally included the arts alongside sports and anagrams.
The bartender who ran trivia night was a slut for anagrams.
I also traded in the gin that made me feel like a dry husk of a human for tequila. It was margarita night, though the jury was out if that fun theme-night was going to be a better choice. I had never been very well known for making those anyway, I guess. Especially not when I had my latest likely terrible decision leaning against the wall, trying not to pay much attention to anything let alone the announcement of trivia starting in fifteen minutes.
Even under the dim golden lamp lights, the guy looked like a hero out of a steamy late night television show. He held a half-full beer bottle by the neck in one hand of the crowded bar. A woman continued to wave her hand out in front of his face, as if he hadn’t noticed her yet and wasn’t just plain ignoring her. He had glasses hanging from his collar of a shirt that looked like he’d just come from his job—but it didn’t look like any sort of job anyone worked at Barnett.
