Page 49 of Blush Crush

“No dating app.” I groan, slumping my head back.

“Why not?” Marisa asks, trying to sound enthusiastic even though I’m fairly certain she described them as a horror show when she tried them.

“Because I’m not interested in swiping through a catalog of men like I’m online shopping.”

“That’s literally what it is and it works,” Layla says.

“Not for me.”

“How do you know if you’ve never tried?”

“Layla—”

She leans forward, elbows on her knees, fixing me with the look she uses when she’s done being gentle about something. “You’ve been saying you want love, you want connection, you want someone who sees you. But wanting it from the couch surrounded by your books and your cat isn’t going to make it appear. You have to actually do something about it.”

“I do things.”

“Name one.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out because there’s nothing to say. She’s right. I do nothing.

Layla raises her eyebrows. “That’s what I thought.” She’s not trying to be unkind, but it hurts all the same. “Look, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just know you. I know how you work. If we don’t push you, you won’t push yourself. You’ll talk yourself out of it before you’ve even started. You’ll find a reason why it’s not the right time or why it probably won’t work out or why someone like him would never go for someone like you.” She holds my gaze. “And none of that is true. But you’ll believe it anyway.”

The room is very quiet, uncomfortable, and suffocating. Duchess abandons Elyse and comes to sit beside me.

“Why are you guys pushing so hard?” I hate that my voice comes out smaller than I intended, emotional even.

“Because that’s what we have to do,” Layla says simply. “Because you won’t give yourself that push. You never have. You’re so used to playing it safe, staying inside your comfort zone, waiting for things to come to you instead of going after them.” She softens slightly. “And you deserve to go after things, Ari. You deserve to want things out loud and actually try to get them. We just want to see you do that.”

I look at the coffee table, feeling moisture pool in my eyes. Crying is my default for most emotions.

I know she means it with love. I know all of them do.

But I hate that they think so little of me. I’ve accomplished a lot on my own, without anyone having to push me. Just because I haven’t pushed as far forward with my romantic life as I have with other aspects doesn’t mean I can’t. I don’t need their meddling. They mean well, but they’re wrong and out of line.

“Fine,” I say eventually, just to get them to back off.

Layla studies me for a moment. Then she tops up my wine without another word, which is her version ofI love you and I’ll leave it alone for now.

Scottie steers the conversation somewhere easier after that, and the evening settles back into the comfortable thing it was before. By the time they leave, it’s past eight and my apartment smells like Thai food and wine.

I sit on the couch for a long time after the door closes behind them.

You’re so used to playing it safe.

You won’t give yourself that push.

The worst part is I can’t decide if I’m angry because they’re wrong. Or because they’re right.

Determined to think about literally anything else, I throw myself into cleaning. I tidy up and deep-clean the kitchen and bathroom while listening to an audiobook, scrubbing and wiping like it might somehow quiet my mind.

It doesn’t.

By the time the moon is bright and the stars are out, I go through my apartment the way I always do in the evenings, turning off lights and making sure everything’s in order. I take a long shower and crawl into bed.

But sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.

I toss and turn for what feels like hours. When I finally glance at the clock, it’s eleven, leaving me with a little over three hours before my alarm goes off.