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“That’s none of your business.”
I shrugged. “Come on. It’s an innocent question,” I reasoned, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “Yes or no?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and aimed her shielded gaze out the window.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “Now, I’m just wondering if your silence is because you genuinely don’t want to talk about it or maybe he’s no good …”
I knew I was crossing a line. I knew I was pushing buttons that I had no business pushing. But that green-eyed little devil I had only recently become acquainted with just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Because she was right; I did lean on her … andPeterhad taken her away.
Lennon shook her head, her stance one of discomfort. “You have no right, talking about—”
“Oh,” I said, turning from the road long enough to dart my gaze in her direction. “So, it’syourbusiness to talk to me about how I should or shouldn’t handle losing my goddamn leg and how I’m such a spoiled fuckin’ brat, butIhave no right to talk to you about whether or not your new fuck toy makes you come. I see how it is.”
Black hair flew as she turned her head, eyebrows furrowed over her glasses. “I’m talking to you about that as a friend, Dylan. Because I care about you, believe it or not. Because I—”
“And I’m trying to figure out if this guy satisfies you the way you know I can,” I cut her off, smirking. “As afriend.”
Her nostrils flared against her seething rage, but her cheeks blushed bright pink as she shifted in her seat. The fullness of her bottom lip tucked itself firmly between her teeth as her head hung and her fingers clenched the strap of her purse.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” I asked, continuing to cross line after line, just to see how far I could pull her back in my direction. Far, far away from Peter. “I think about it all the time. I can’tstopthinking about it. I—”
“Dylan.” She shook her head. “You need to knock it off.”
“Knock what off? Thinking about you?”
Lennon bit against her bottom lip harder and remained silent.
“’Cause I told you already, Ican’t.”
I turned into the driveway of the skinny two-story townhouse, behind a shiny blue Toyota sedan. The lawn wasn’t much to look at, and the place had about as much personality as a rock, but he had his own house.
That was more than I could say for myself now.
Maybe she’s better off.
“Good-bye, Dylan,” Lennon said hurriedly, throwing the door open and climbing out as fast as she could.
I should let her leave. I should just let her go and call her later to apologize for being such a jealous, awful dick. But even as logic and reason screamed their demands, I threw the door open and got out of the car so quickly that my foot caught on the lip of the door, causing me to stumble on my way out.
“Fuck this,” I cursed under my breath, righting myself and noticing immediately she hadn’t turned to see if I was okay.
She was already halfway up a walkway she clearly knew well enough to not need help, and that infuriated me. Not because she hadn’t looked or that she knew the terrain, but because I had pushed her so far away that she reached a point of not caring.
“Remember, you were mine first,” I shouted at her before needlessly smacking the roof of the car with a hand. She turned abruptly, lips parted and shocked, but she said nothing, so I added, “Think about that when you fuck him, okay? Think aboutme.”
The front door opened, and out stepped a guy, wearing a crisp, white shirt and a loose necktie. His suspicious, narrowed eyes were directed straight at me as he asked in a voice he probably hoped was menacing, “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Lennon mumbled as she turned away, reaching for his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead her inside.
She didn’t look back again as she disappeared and closed the door. I cursed her name under my breath as I climbed back into my car, suddenly fine with the idea that I might never see her again. Good riddance. I didn’t need her shit. I didn’t need this dependency I’d had on her to write songs or smile or feel more human. I didn’t need her bullshit comments about acceptance and control. Fuck her, fuck the album, fuck everything that had happened since she had walked into my life.
But those feelings were fleeting, and by the time I navigated through the side streets back home, my anger toward her shifted toward fear that I might never again smell the scent of orchids in my car. And if Peter made her happy, then maybe I could be happy for her because that was what a friend was supposed to do.
Even when it hurt.
So, before I could head inside, I pulled out my phone and immediately texted her.
Me: Hey. I’m a dick, okay? I never said I wasn’t, but I’m sorry.
