And a little part of me—the part that he smashed to pieces when he left—laughs with her. This is good, right? Humiliating, like I wanted, because he hurt me.
So, why do I feel fucking awful?
When I told him the plan, I expected him to hate it,but all he said was, “Great. Love it,” and asked what time he needed to be here.
Five more minutes pass, and I know—I justknow—Carla isn’t coming.
“What the hell do I do?”
“What do you mean?” Skye asks. “Leave him there. He deserves it.”
Maybe I should. This is what I wanted, right?
It just doesn’t make any sense. This is Benji. He’s hot and creative, he owns his own business, he loves his family … I mean, yeah, sure, he’s hotheaded and stubborn, and he hates talking about himself or admitting his feelings and will leave you crying in a parking lot before he runs off without even a follow-up text, but Carla doesn’t know that.
Sliding down into the chair, I rest my head on the table and groan. “I don’t know that I can do this.”
Skye sighs like she’s rubbing her hand on my back. “God, you’re so nice. This is how I know I’m never making it to heaven when I die.”
I pout a little more, the way I did when we were kids and I needed her to please not make me feel bad about being a sap.
“Fine,” she says. “Go save the cretin.”
Chapter Eight
BENJI
The things we do for love, huh?
Since I arrived at the gallery, I’ve been ogled, whistled, heckled, and slapped on the ass at least once. Now, if that had all been from Paige, I’d be all for it. I’m not gonna lie; it’s been pretty damn rewarding to see her staring at me from across the street. Like she can’t help herself.
This is the first date I’ve allowed myself since we broke up. I’m not surprised that Paige chose this place—the website called it a sensory experience and “unlike anything you could expect”—and, well, that’s Paige to a T, you know? Full of hidden treasures.
I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks about what I’m wearing—if a meteor were headed straight for the earth and I had seconds left to live, I might admit that these shorts were fucking comfortable, but that’s for noone to ever know. All I care about right now is leveling the playing field between us, and if Paige decides that her forgiveness comes with a side dish of public shaming, then so be it.
My thighs look fucking huge in these shorts though. If I’m ever strapped for cash, they’ll come in handy.
Isaac, of course, thinks this whole thing is fucking hilarious. Ridiculous, but hilarious. You’d think he, of all people, would understand. I mean, I spent a year crashing in his spare room and hating myself for fucking things up with Paige, but, no … all my older brother has to say is “talk to her.”
Like prying open the car wreck of my vulnerabilities isn’t the whole-ass reason I fumbled the most amazing woman I’d ever met.
I know I need to talk to her. I want to. I want to tell her everything.
There’s no future I want that doesn’t have her in it, and she deserves to know that.
I just need to get the damn words out.
The exhibit runs on a schedule, and I know it’s time because the tour guide pokes her head out of the entrance to gently prod me into coming inside. It’s now or never.
One last glance across the road tells me Paige is gone, and I guess getting stood up is the perfect finale for today.
Yeah, I deserve that.
Well, fuck it. I’m already here. If I go home now, I’ll be stuck in my own head, which I definitely don’t want. So, sensory exhibit it is. At least it’ll be cooler in there.
The tour guide jumps to get everyone’s attention as soon as she catches me walking in. “Greetings, everyone! Thank you for joining us at Color Wheel!”
There’s a quiet round of applause from the two dozen other people here. I wonder how many of us know what’s coming.
