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“Even last year? When things were getting worse, and he would never respond to your texts and calls? You two fought all the time, you have to admit. I’m pretty sure he was cheating on you with Clara a lot longer than you realize,” she says.
I flinch at her words, pushing away from the table and rising to my feet. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Truth hurts, right?”
My mouth drops open and I stare at her, shocked she would be so cruel. “You want the truth? We could talk about how you’re going out too much and I’m worried about you.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t try and turn this around on me. I don’t have a problem.”
“You’re getting drunk all of the time lately. I think it’s becoming a problem.” I hesitate, wondering if I should say more before I decide to just go for it. “You go to the bars a lot, Nat, and it’s…concerning.”
Her face hardens into an impenetrable mask. “Great. Now you’re calling me a drunk. I’m watching out for your wellbeing and you insult me.”
“You basically said I was in an abusive relationship,” I point out, my anger and frustration reaching a boiling point.
I’m done with this conversation.
“I guess we’re both fuck ups then, huh?” she calls after me as I march down the short hall and storm into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
I lie on the bed facedown, trying to calm my racing thoughts. My angry, out of control thoughts. I hear the front door slam closed, and I realize Natalie has left for the day. Probably still mad at me.
Well good, I’m mad at her too.
Rolling over onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling, going over what she said in my head. I suspect Bryan was with Clara longer than he admitted to me too. Did he cheat on me the entire time we’ve been going to college? I don’t think so. We really didn’t run into serious trouble with our relationship until last year. But was he having fun while also coming down on me about how he didn’t like it when I went to parties because he didn’t want guys talking to me?
For sure. The double standard was strong in Bryan and I always told him that when we argued about it. He would reassure me that even when he went to parties, he was only ever talking to his friends. But he never specified if those friends were male or female.
God, I was such a gullible idiot back then. Maybe I still am. I was the one who worked so hard at keeping our relationship afloat, while he was off doing whatever he wanted, getting together with me over breaks and holidays and treating me like his favorite girl. He used to call me that. His favorite girl.
Puke.
No wonder I was his favorite. Blindly accepting what he said for the past three years without question? I was the perfect, little dumb girlfriend who never wanted to cause trouble.
An angry sound leaves me and I sit up, pushing my hair away from my face. I’m so tired of being taken advantage of. I need to take control of my life and stop worrying about hurting people’s feelings when they have no problem stomping all over mine.
I’m over it.
Over. It.
By the time it’s early afternoon and I’m striding into the library about to meet with Knox for our appointment, I’m still in a sour mood. I don’t want to take it out on him though, so I try to repeat mantras in my head.
It’s a good day. He’s a good guy. He’s not taking advantage of you.
Yeah. The mantra isn’t working because it’s so much easier to just lump all guys together and label them as terrible.
I enter the meeting room to find Knox already there, pacing the floor, breathtaking in jeans and a rust-colored Henley shirt that molds to all of his muscles, showing them off to perfection. I come to a complete stop in the doorway, watching as he pauses in his pacing, his green eyes lighting up when they land on me.
“Hey.” His deep voice rumbles over me, soothing all of those agitated nerves that have been bouncing in my stomach throughout the day. “You look pretty.”
I push the door shut and lean against it, glancing down at myself. I was so frustrated over my argument with Natalie, I put zero effort into this outfit. I’m wearing my favorite baggy jeans and a cropped, cream-colored sweatshirt with my favorite Reeboks on my feet. The ones my mom loves to tell me she owned when she was my age.
Whatever Mom.
“Thank you,” I finally say, sounding breathless.
Because just being in his presence makes me breathless. That intense glint in his gaze as he approaches, his hands settling on my waist as he stops directly in front of me. I tilt my head back, my heart racing when I realize he’s coming closer, his mouth brushing against mine in a brief, sweet kiss.
“Hi,” he murmurs, pulling away slightly. “You seem stressed.”
