Page 20 of Hot Girls Read Book Club

Lily keeps waving.

I slam my eyes shut, unable to make myself wave back.

A second later, I’m turning onto Main Street and driving away from the best thing that’s happened to me in years.

“Fuck.”

The house is as quiet as it always is when I get home, but it feels heavier tonight. I leave my keys on the counter, shrug off my jacket, and stand there for a second, trying to let it all catch up with me.

I pull my phone out of my pocket without thinking and see Lily’s name sitting at the top of my messages. The sight of it has my heart beating faster again. I open the thread, even though I’m already dreading what I’m going to find.

LILY:

Hey! Missed you tonight.

Everything okay?

A sad smile pulls at my lips. I can almost hear her voice in it, light and warm the way it always is with me. It’s a simple message that should be easy to answer, but instead, it feels like tipping over the edge of a drop I didn’t even realize was there.

I set the phone down face-first on the counter.

The problem is that I can still see her. Not the friendly version of her from the library or the carefree one when we’re cruising down backroads in my truck. It’s the way she looked standing in that parking lot, listening to Becca and Rachel unearth all the skeletons from my closet.

I should’ve stayed.

That thought cuts in immediately, uninvited and sharp enough to slice behind my ribs. I couldn’t have changed what they said, but I should have given her the chance to decide for herself what she believes or how she wants to proceed. I made that decision for her instead, and that’s the part that keeps catching in my throat.

I drag a hand down my face, over the stubble on my jaw, and move through the kitchen without any real purpose. I’m opening cabinets I don’t need to open and closing them again just as quickly. The house is too still compared with the static in my head. My skin crawls with discomfort.

Eventually, I pick the phone back up.

There’s a part of me that wants to fix it. Say something—anything—to make this all less strange or explain why I left without making it worse. Truth be told, I don’t know how to explain it in a way that doesn’t sound like what it probably looks like from the outside.

I type, then delete it. Then try again.

It isn’t until I’ve stared at the screen long enough that the text begins to blur that I settle on something simple that feels like less damage, but not by much.

Sorry.

That’s all it says.

I put the phone down again, and this time, I don’t pick it back up, even when it buzzes with what I know is her response.

The garage smells like oil and metal and heat, the way it always does, but today it doesn’t cut through the noise in my head the way it should. The rhythm of my business usually grounds me, but today, every noise is overstimulating. Tools clanking, a radio playing somewhere deeper in the shop, voices bouncing off concrete walls I’m usually not even aware of.

Noah is the first to notice something is off.

He leans against the counter near my bay while I’m halfway under my second vehicle of the day, and we’ve only been open for an hour.

“Don’t know if you know this, but you’re already the boss, no need to work yourself to death, you already own the damn place.” He drawls sarcastically.

Any other day, I’d give him some kind of jab or comment back, anything to keep it moving, but I just keep working this time.

That’s what makes him pause.

Sean shows up not long after, wiping his hands on a rag. He starts in on me the same way he always does, razzing me about how I look like I went nine rounds with Rhonda Rousey. Noah joins in like it’s some kind of twisted language they share, and for a while, I let it go on because it’s easier than explaining why none of it’s landing.

By the afternoon, the mood has completely shifted.