Page 70 of The Night We Met

I was beyond irritated. Beyond. What the actual fuck was wrong with him?

I got in bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling. I was never going to sleep now.

As if the nightmares weren’t enough.

I really hoped Larissa didn’t realize what happened. She’d feel bad about the bill being so big and embarrassed about her mom ordering so much. I hoped she just had a nice dinner, had some good food, and was getting into bed with enough leftovers for her lunch tomorrow.

Mike was such an asshole.

I woke up the next morning exhausted. At least I didn’t have to go to work. Mike showed up at noon—in the rideshare he fought me on the night before.

I threw open the door without a word and went to grab his keys.

I tossed them at him and dropped onto the sofa. He stood in the entry like a wounded puppy. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I said, looking at him.

He just stood there.

“The fucking world doesn’t revolve around you,” I said. “I’ve got my own shit going on. You know that, Mike? Things I don’t even talk to you about—”

“What don’t you talk to me about?”

Anything? Like he cared? Every time I tried to talk to him about me, about the stuff with Mom, he changed the subject, made a joke, gave me some half-assed platitude. He clearly couldn’t handle it for whatever fucking reason, so I’d stopped trying.

“You know what? Just go,” I said.

He stayed in the doorway. “Can I get a lift to my truck?”

I cursed under my breath and got up.

The car ride was silent. When I got to the parking lot, he didn’t get out.

“What can I do to make it up to you?”

“You can give me my money back,” I mumbled.

He scoffed.