Page 220 of Rising Heat

“Mm-hmm.”

“I know how insane that sounds.”

“Little bit.”

I let out a laugh that doesn’t survive very long.

“Do you know what I think?”

“Probably.”

“I think you’ve been hiding in the one place you couldn’t wait to leave.”

That one stings because it’s true.

“The girl who packed up her entire life and moved to Boston didn’t ask permission from anybody,” she says. “She definitely wouldn’t spend four days hiding from one bad night.”

“She’s currently horizontal.”

“Get her up.”

I huff out a laugh and scrub both hands over my face.

“I don’t know if what I want is what they want.”

Bex shrugs.

“Then go find out.”

She says it like it’s simple.

“It’s not that easy.”

“No,” she agrees. “It’s six hours, probably awkward as hell, and there’s a decent chance somebody cries.”

“Not helping.”

“But at least then you’ll know.”

I stare down at my latte.

“What if they meant it? What if it really was temporary?”

Bex doesn’t answer right away.

Instead she tears off a piece of my blueberry scone like she has every intention of stealing my breakfast after driving forty-five minutes to deliver it.

“Then you survive that too. But don’t you dare spend the next six months wondering if you walked away from something that wasn’t actually over.”

I pick at the corner of the napkin wrapped around the scone until it starts to tear.

I hate how quickly I know she’s right.

“And,” she adds, “think how good the makeup sex’s gonna be when two ridiculously hot men spend the next week apologizing.”

I laugh despite myself, then immediately feel my eyes sting a little afterward.

“Go get your men, Darcy.”