Page 27 of Something Borrowed

“It’s pathological,” Vic filled in. “You’re right. But yeah, so, if I’m coming over as a friend-with-benefits kind of thing, great. But if you’re hoping for more or thinking of this as a date—and I’m sorry, that’s on me—then I should say no. I’m a mess and not someone you want to be involved with romantically.”

This night . . . How it had gone from . . . whatever it was to whatever . . . this was? Cal struggled to catch up. When someone tells you who they are, believe them. When someone tells you who they are, believe them. The words—the lesson—he hoped he had learned kept repeating in his head.

“Okay, well, um . . .”

“Shoot. I’ve made it all horribly awkward now.”

It was true. She really had, but he didn’t think it would be helpful to say as much.

“I’m sorry. I . . . I think I misread things a bit,” Cal said.

“No, I’m sorry. I know I sent you mixed signals.”

The silence between them stretched. Her eyes were big and imploring—so confusing. “Do you still want me to come over on Friday?”

Was she for real right now?

“Um . . . I guess? We’ll see if we can be friends. No . . . benefits.” He almost choked on the word. “That’s not really me.”

Vic held up a hand. “I get it. And I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“So, uh, until Friday then, I guess.” Stupidly, humiliatingly, the back of his eyes felt hot, almost teary. He had really liked her—and that kiss. It hadn’t seemed like some casual scratch-an-itch benefits thing. It had felt like it had feelings.

“Until Friday.” She sounded heart-achingly hopeful, which was even more bewildering. Now his heart ached for different reasons. He’d done hot and cold. He’d done a relationship with a deeply traumatized woman. He’d done my-love-is-strong-enough-to-heal-her. (Of course, he hadn’t done any of that consciously. It wasn’t till trying to survive the aftermath of Melanie’s abrupt exit that he learned of the dance he did with partners, the patterns he was unconsciously complicit in.) How the hell had he managed to find someone possibly even more complicated than Melanie?

He was going to take Vic’s advice, and he was going to be very careful. They’d have pizza, he’d keep conversation light, to house repairs and the like, and if he wasn’t feeling—or getting—just friends vibes, he’d distance himself. He really would.

Vibes. Whatever happened with Vic, he needed to hang out with other people more. He was starting to sound exactly like Carrie, even in his own head.

Chapter 15

Vic closed the door behind Cal, clicked out the lights when she heard his van start, then sank to the floor and sat in the darkness. She’d seen the shadow cross his face, clocked the second when he saw her differently, where she shifted in his eyes from a potential romantic partner to someone who was . . . too much. Too much drama. Too much intensity. Too much crazy.

Worse, worse, worse—he looked hurt. Confused. And of course he did!

She’d wrecked their fledgling friendship before it had even started. It was all her fault. If she hadn’t flirted . . . If she hadn’t kissed him . . . It was the kiss that had done it. No wonder he’d gotten his wires crossed.

You think? muttered Angel.

Whatever. A kiss is just a kiss, quoted Devil, smirking.

Except it hadn’t been just a kiss, or rather, it had been—but it was the way he kissed her, the way he responded to her kissing him. So much passion, but . . . gentle, somehow. Controlled. Or maybe her inner freakout had started even earlier. Maybe when he’d so sweetly asked before he kissed her. Even in this day and age of consent, blah, blah, blah, she’d just thought that was an urban legend. She should’ve known then it was a bad idea.

Vic wrapped her arms around her shins and rested her burning face against her knobby knees. She knew what would happen come Friday. He’d politely text to cancel with some bogus excuse, like a family emergency or an urgent job had just come up. Or maybe he would go through with the visit because he’d already extended the invitation—and then he’d quietly disappear.

Why was she so screwed up? So, they’d been flirting. So, he was a nice guy and didn’t treat her like garbage from Day 1. Why did that throw her into such a freakish state of anxiety?

Because you never learn. Was that Angel or Devil’s cheap shot? Sometimes it was hard to tell.

Quit lying to yourself.

Okay, okay—

She knew exactly what had triggered her need to bail: the stirring of her old, stupid self, the one who pretended to be casual and up for anything but was really always looking for love like the old sappy song.

It had been her brain lighting up when they kissed. He really likes me, she’d thought. Maybe he could love me.

Yep, way, way too soon, she’d felt like Cal really cared about her—and she knew by now, finally, that was an old trap. She always thought a new guy was the one, the one who genuinely cared, the one who might finally love her the way she’d love him if he’d let her. She hadn’t been lying. He did deserve someone who wasn’t . . . her. She also hadn’t been entirely truthful. It wasn’t just him she was protecting. It was herself.