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Aloud bang echoes through my living room. It sounded like a door slamming, but whoever the hell slammed it had to have done it pretty fucking hard if I can hear it from my place. Probably Tara and Nix fighting again. That’s their M.O. Fight, look at each other like they want to kill one another, and then they get all hot and heavy—honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve fucked. All that intensity, followed up by pretending they don’t feel some type of connection.
The same connection I have with her.
No. I can’t think like that. I effectively friend-zoned us last week when I told her we could be friends. Not sure what I was thinking, but after it slipped out, I couldn’t exactly take it back. I have to stick to my words, even if I’ve regretted them every moment since.
She tried to hide the pain with a smile, but I could see it in her eyes. I genuinely didn’t think it would upset her, because ever since I picked her up in that bar, she’s pushed me away so I can’t get too close. I thought she’d be happy that I was creating this distance between us.
I’m not sure what she wants, but I sure as hell know what I want.
I want her. I want to be the one she’s married to, the one whose last name she has. She’s made me absolutely fucking crazy, going out of my damn mind, but it never feels like enough. I could be drowning in her presence and I’d still crave more.
I know I sound insane. I barely know her, but there’s just something about her that drives me wild. And I’ve already established that my brain isn’t fucking normal, so that shouldn’t be surprising.
An angry fist pounds on my door, shaking it so hard I’m convinced it’ll come off its hinges. Nix knows he can walk right in, so I don’t know why he’s bothering to knock.
“Coming!” I yell, setting down my sketch pad to go answer the door. The knocking continues, and it’s starting to piss me off. I grab the handle and throw the door open. “Fucking stop, man. You know you don’t have to kno— What are you doing here?”
Tara’s standing in front of me, looking insanely gorgeous in a tight pink dress that molds to her body perfectly. She looks stunning, but it’s not something she’d usually wear. She never would’ve picked that out for herself, meaning Nix has made her wear it.
“Well, hello to you too, friend,” she mumbles, looking up at me with wild eyes.
“Uh... hey? I thought you were Nix.” I run my hand through my hair, wondering what exactly she’s doing on my doorstep.
“Disappointed that I’m not?” She chuckles lightly, but I can hear the pain in her voice.
“No, no. I just... This is unexpected.”
“Surprise.” She waves her arms in a grand gesture, but it falls flat. “You going to let me in, or should I go get Marnix for you instead?” She looks up at me, and her eyes seem to be missing that usual teasing gleam.
“Oh, yeah, come on in.” Moving out of the way, I open the door wider so she can push past me. Her lavender scent instantly fills my nose, immediately making me wonder if letting her in was a good idea.
“Wow, so this is your place. Not what I expected.” She spins around, taking in all the decor.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Bare walls, just a bunch of tattoo stuff all over.” She laughs, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve heard.
“Rose decorated it for me. Took my style and made it into something.”
“Hmm, that explains it.” She looks around one more time before directing her attention back to me.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here, Tara?” Not that I don’t want her here, but we agreed to giving each other space, and this is not the space I was imagining. Her in my house, looking fucking delicious enough to eat. God, I’m about two seconds away from going back on my word about being just friends.
“Can’t I just come and visit my friend?” She shrugs, but she seems off tonight.
“You can, but you’re looking at me like you want to murder me.” The dangerous ferocity in her eyes lets me know something bad must’ve happened for her to show up out of the blue. She looks like she wants to throttle anyone in her path.
“It’s not you that I’d like to murder. Well, maybe I want to murder you a little, considering you convinced me to go.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better.
“So it didn’t go well?”
She scoffs. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” I hate this deflective tone she’s giving me. She’s missing her usual spunk, and it’s driving me mad.
