Page 31 of Playing With Temptation

Then we broke up and he still made time to call.

Then I ghosted him and he still asked me to sit with him Friday night, making time for me, wanting to catch up.

I pulled up his contact info and hit the text icon. Of course I was met with a blank text thread.

Blank.

This was either the best way forward—a blank slate, a new beginning, the start of a new and improved friendship between two mature adults—or this was the worst idea ever and my heart was going to break all over again.

But I needed to apologize.

For the pick-up line incident, for being a cow on Saturday, and for being an immature idiot way back when.

Before I could talk myself out of it, my thumbs started tapping the screen.

Hey Jase, it’s Rainy. I owe you an apology. First, the school thing… I was in shock. There’s no other way to describe it. I wasn’t expecting to see you.

I read what I had so far and deleted most of it.

Hey Jase, it’s Rainy. I owe you an apology. First, the school thing… you were right, I could’ve and should’ve pulled into a parking space and said hello. That would’ve been the right thing to do. I have no defense or excuse for being an ass and driving away. Which leads me to Saturday. Full disclosure, I was scared as hell to find out you were happily married.

Nope.

I wasn’t ready to be that honest.

Hey Jase, it’s Rainy. I owe you an apology. First, the school thing… you were right, I could’ve and should’ve pulled into a parking space and said hello. That would’ve been the right thing to do. I have no defense or explanation for being an ass and driving way. Which leads me to Saturday. I could give you a bunch of excuses for closing down on you but that’s all they would be excuses. I was taken off guard and in shock and lashed out. I’m truly sorry. You didn’t deserve that.

I read the message, inwardly cringed at my lame attempt to apologize, and deleted all of it.

Hey Jase, it’s Rainy. How’s Colson’s arm?

Before I could overthink my impersonal yet intrusive question I hit send.

The whoosh of the text being sent out into cyberspace or wherever the hell a text zipped off to before it magically appeared on the receiver’s phone went just as three loud raps banged on my front door.

Who the heck banged on someone’s door at eight-oh-five in the morning?

I was staring at it when three more knocks pounded.

“Rainy? Are you home?”

That sounded like Sophie.

I rushed to the door, flung it open, saw I was right, and immediately asked, “What’s wrong?”

Sophie jolted but it wasn’t my door swinging open that had her freaked out.

Red rimmed eyes.

Something was wrong.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

I stepped to the side to allow her to enter.

“Maybe… let’s sit.”