Meeting Tim has changed that for her, but they’re in Florida now with his kids. She gets a do-over. I don’t. Present happiness isn’t a time machine for past sorrows.
Especially when that happiness isn’t yours.
I squeeze my eyes closed, wanting to pull myself out of this headspace. I came in here because I needed a break from the intensity of the last two days. Pain pulses in my ankle with every heartbeat, reminding me I can’t stand like this much longer. But moving means going back out there and facing Oliver after that kiss.
I kissed Oliver.
It was incredible, but every time I replay that toe-curling, heart-stopping kiss, I’ve worried I’m being untrue to Arrow.He’sthe one I’ve been wanting to pursue a relationship with.
And now I’ve thrown myself at his feet and he’s rejecting me.
I really should be used to it by now.
I start typing:
GracieLou
Of course. Your friendship means a lot to me. No pressure. :)
And then, I write out what I really want to say.
Hey, let’s tell it like it is: we’re not going to meet up. There’s no “will they, won’t they” here. We won’t. Let’s just admit that and never talk about it again so I can move forward without this question mark hanging over my head.
My thumb hovers over send.
Shifts.
And I delete it.
You’re spunky, not snarky. You’re gracious, not bitter.
Although right now, I’m feeling kind of bitter.
But let’s be clear: you didn’t delete that to be gracious, you deleted it because you know the truth: you’re a way for him to pass time. You’re not special. Not to him, not to Dad.
You’re convenient.
Oh, shut up.
Whatever I am, I’m done standing on one leg in a bathroom stall, waiting for more.
“I guess you didn’t fall in,” Oliver says when I sit down.
If looks could kill, well, mine would sting like a vicious mosquito. “There was a line,” I lie.
“No there wasn’t. You’re avoiding me.”
I shift and prop by injured foot up on the bench. My shoe squeaks on the faux leather. “Why would I avoid you?” I ask, dipping a fry in ketchup. “I’m stuck with you for the next thousand miles.”
He picks up his burger and looks me head on. “Because we kissed.”
And then he takes a bite, like he didn’t just drop that bomb.
Heat creeps up my neck, and my mouth almost falls open at his audacity. I jab my fry in his direction. “That wasn’t a kiss. That was … duress. They pressured us into it.”
“We could have walked.”
I almost laugh in his face. The only thing stopping me is that he doesn’t know about my ankle. His back is to the bathroom, or he’d have seen me favoring my other foot.
