Page 33 of I Choose You

Brooke: Hungover. Pity me and bring food?

She replied immediately.

Rena: On it, lightweight.

I set the phone down and cozied back in to nap. She had a key, and I didn’t know how long it would take for her to get here. It seemed pointless to waste the comfort of my bed.

I dozed off for a half hour. The door closing woke me, and she entered my bedroom with a bag of reliably greasy fast food that would lubricate my stomach into feeling human again.

Thank God I didn’t puke.

“I have two theories,” she announced. “A, you didn’t go at all and drank at that weird, seedy, artsy bar to avoid analyzing why you ghosted him. B, you went and leaned a little too much on needing liquid courage.”

I took the water bottle she held out. “No option C?”

She shook her head and sat on the edge of the bed. “I know you too well.”

“Something like B and a half,” I admitted after I sipped the water and put the water bottle on my nightstand. Placing it there reminded me of finding the glass and medicine Kaden had set there last night.

It was sweet but I couldn’t trust he was after our past.

She made a gimme motion with her hand. “Do tell.”

As I sipped water and nibbled on the greasy hash brown that I only ate because of my hangover, I told her about the date. I admitted that I didn’t remember much, but I was firm that I hadn’t slept with him. No funny business at all, but I couldn’t pinpoint why I felt like I should be embarrassed about something.

“Will you get revenge on him then?” she asked, that mischievous look in her eyes again.

On the guy who was nice enough to put water and painkillers out for me? It was such a small thing, but wasn’t it the little details that mattered? I shrugged. “I didn’t even have a plan for that. I went to see what he was looking for from me.”

“And what’s the verdict?”

“He was looking to catch up. And we did.”

She grinned. “And?”

“And I feel like I want to do it again.”

“Catch up on the same catching up you’ve already done?”

I rubbed my face. “I feel embarrassed about something. I don’t know what. Maybe it’s nothing. But I need to address that. I need to emphasize that this is a professional relationship.”

“Is it?”

“It should be?”

She patted my leg. “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“I’m not. I started out so strong.”

“You are strong.”

I shook my head. “Last night, I was coy and flirty—a badass. I made him wait almost an hour so he’d wonder if I stood him up. Seeing him again got me thinking I should look for an opportunity to settle the score with him from high school.”

“Go for it. Get that closure.”

Should I? “But it seems petty. I’ve moved on. I like to think I’m the bigger person here. But seeing him makes me feel like I’m in high school again. It reminds me of all the insecurities I’ve fought to overcome and still struggle with.”

Facing him and having his full attention was unnerving. In my office, I could have the persona of not taking shit and getting things done. The professional setting was a safety guard. He would be no different from any other person I had to discuss contracts with. At Giovanni’s, it wasn’t the same, or I didn’t feel the same. It was harder to be objective when we joked about simple, random things like pizza toppings, why baseball was more boring than golf, and if Sandra looked more like Rose or Blanche, although she had the spirit of the one and only Dorothy Zbornak.