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Fuck. “Fi, now’s not a good time.”
“Fi?” Her smile fades, and she takes a step back. “What’s with the formality? You haven’t called me that in months.”
I shake my head, unable to concentrate fully on her standing here when I hear the door upstairs creak open. “I can’t do dinner right now, is all. Go home, I’ll call you later.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why can’t you do dinner, Boyd? Do you have someone in there with you?”
“I—” Snapping my mouth closed, I bite the inside of my cheek, realization dawning on me. The fact that this is her first conclusion is telling, but more so, leaning into it is probably my best chance at getting her to safety.
I swallow over the vomit teasing my throat, ignoring the ache in my heart. “Why is that your first assumption, Fiona? Do you really think so little of me that you think I’d be fucking someone else while I’m messing around with you?”
“No, I just... we aren’t official, or anything, so I wasn’t sure—”
“You’re right, we’re not. I’m not your fucking boyfriend, so you can’t just show up on my doorstep whenever you please and demand I give you my time. I’m an adult, and I’ve got responsibilities. I can’t just let you distract me every chance you get.”
She blinks, eyes widening under the dim porch light, and takes another step back. Crossing her arms over her chest, her index finger starts that little ritual against her stomach. A chasm rips open inside of my chest at being the cause of a spiral, but I can’t back down right now.
Can’t focus on anything except getting her the fuck away from me, hoping I can fix things later.
Swallowing, Fiona scratches at her neck, dropping her eyes. “You’re right. Sorry for the distraction. Have a nice night, Boyd.”
I stay rooted in place while she descends the porch steps, heading to where her Jeep is parked at the end of my driveway. And I don’t stop staring, don’t stop hurting, even after she’s long gone.
