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“Wow,” she said. “Fuck, that's so … God, it's socold.”
“Well, in fairness, I didn't say a fucking thing to him either,” I replied, still defending Dylan when he didn't deserve it. “I mean, he's right. I used him too. I liked feeling normal. I … I liked that he didn't know and didn't ask.”
“Okay, so you're even. But if you like each other, then move on from this stupid shit and be together. What's the big deal?”
“The big deal is that I highly doubt he wants to be with me,” I said with a snort before adding, “And I don't want to be with him.”
She laughed at that. A loud cackle that made me scowl at the phone, wishing she were there so I could smack her. “Oh God, Lennon. You're so full of shit.”
“No, I'm not,” I argued.
“You love that guy!” she said, continuing to laugh. “I'll never forget that time you dragged me to one of his concerts a few years ago. You stood there, in the front row, practically drooling over him. And I mean, he was gorgeous back then—I'll give you that—but, like … you would've sacrificed your first born for him. That's how you looked.”
Sadness overcame me as I lowered my gaze to Ernest, knowing exactly what concert she was talking about.
October 10, four years ago.
Just hours before his accident.
“He's still gorgeous,” I pointed out quietly while a vision of him sitting on the couch in his hotel room came to mind.
Black button-down open, revealing tattoos and pierced nipples I'd never seen before. His shaggy, dark hair disheveled and brushing his shoulders. Eyes darkened with lust and need as he watched me, always watching me …
He never stopped watching.
“Exactly,” Tarryn said pointedly. “So, what the hell is wrong with you? Call him up, beg him to take you back, and be done with it. Go get your happily ever after, girlie-girl.”
“Yeah, well, that's the point I'm trying to make,” I muttered, brushing the image from my mind. “I know damn well I'm not getting my happily ever after with him. If I called him right now, there's no guarantee he’d answer.”
“But what if he did?”
“Okay,” I replied, agreeing to play her game for a moment. “Let’s say he did pick up. Let’s even say we decided to give this thing a shot and declare it a real relationship. What happens then? There's a good chance I wouldn't hear from him for two, three weeks at a time, until it suited him, and I don't want that. How the hell am I supposed to be in a relationship with someone who would put literally everything else before me? And not just for a few hours or even a day, butweeks, Tarryn. Who would put up with that?”
“Oh, right. You did mention that,” she murmured before sighing. “I dunno, Lenny. You know how I live my life. If things aren't going somewhere, I drop that shit before I waste any more of my time on it. No sense in beating a dead horse, you know? But I’d also hate for you to be miserable if what you really want is for him to be in your life.”
“Yeah, I know,” I grumbled.
Tarryn was the most successful person I knew in terms of finances and fame. She had a good sense of what was and wasn't worth the effort, and I took her advice seriously in that regard.
But it didn’t make this any less difficult.
“So, move on,” she said, as if it were that simple.
As if I hadn't spent half my life in love with the idea of Dylan Pierce.
***
From the moment Connor Jacobs was born, he'd been a pain in my mother's ass. She often said he was the reason she chose to have another kid—to see if she'd simply been cursed to birth children possessed by the need to drive her crazy.
She hadn’t been—unless you considered the fact that I was more than likely never moving out of her house at the rate I was going.
That was where she'd lucked out with my older brother.
The second he’d turned eighteen, Connor had moved out and bounced from couch to couch, from apartment to apartment, until he settled into a career as a garbage man in Connecticut. That was where he'd remained for the past fifteen years, renting a little apartment for himself and his daughter, Sammy, when she wasn't with her mom—a girl he'd had a one-night stand with eleven years ago.
Apparently, one-night stands ran in the family. Except his was with a barista, and mine was with …
Well, we all know about that.
