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I groan, sinking into my seat as I replay the exchange in the kitchen of the Kildare family home this morning. Castle clearly was giving me an out. He laid that excuse right at my fucking feet, gift-wrapped and with a big bow on it and everything.
And I didn’t take it. Knowingly and willingly, I straight up rejected that offer of a way out. For the last few hours, I’ve been trying to figure out why the actual hell I didn’t just suck it up and lean into the lie that I was wasted or something. That I was drunk and unaware of what I was doing.
It certainly would have made moving forward a fuck of a lot easier.
But deep in my heart I know, sitting here staring at the back of his head, why I didn’t take the out.
Because I don’twantto excuse what happened as a drunken mistake.
Because it wasn’t.
And I want to hold on to that dream a little bit longer, even if it’s clear my ridiculous schoolgirl fantasies about this man are definitely going to stay only that: fantasies.
Castle hits send on the email he was just hammering out. I watch him switch to his tex messages, and then frown when I see his face tighten as he smiles at something. I lean forward a little—like a completely normal person and not a total psycho—to spy on his texts.
Instantly, I wish I hadn’t.
He’s texting awoman. A stunningly gorgeous woman with blonde hair and dark eyes named Loraine, from what I can see from my—totally normal and not-at-all-psycho—spying on his private texts. Loraine, who’s got a million-dollar pearl-white smile and a cowboy hat on her head which doesn’t even look stupid and try-hard, but actually looks super cute on her.
Fuck you, Loraine.
My mouth draws to a line as I watch him smile and text something back. Her brief reply makes my blood turn to fire.
It’s a fucking heart emoji.
Die, Loraine. You fucking bitch.
Instantly, I wince, closing my eyes as I shake my head at myself.
Calm the fuck down, self.
I reach into my bag and pull out the orange prescription bottle, tapping out five milligrams of Ativan and swallowing it dry.
Take that, anxiety spike.
I settle back in my seat, glaring at the fucking emoji on Castle’s phone screen as I wait for the anxiety meds to kick in. But as much as I want to shake it off and remind myself thathe isn’t mine, in any way, shape or form, I can’t. Just like I couldn’t take the easy out this morning.
Because after a year plus of mooning over this man and pining after him, that’s impossible.
And that really, really fucking sucks.
Castle sends a heart emoji back to cunt-face bitch Loraine and then turns his phone off. His shoulders suddenly stiffen. Just before he turns to glance my way, I swivel my chair to re-join Ares and Neve’s conversation with Elsa and Hades about the gala tonight.
But I can feel his eyes on me.
Or at least, I imagine I can.
My phone buzzes in my bag. When I pull it out, I see a text from Stavros.
Stavros
Yo, what r u doing tonight?
I half turn, straining my eyes to the peripheral to see if Castle is looking at me. He is. At least, I think he is. It’s tough to say without turning around and being awkwardly obvious. But I think he might be. So I make a big show of sending an especially gushy text back to Stavros, with my phone angled up, just in case Castleislooking this way. Pathetic? Yes. Makes me feel better? Also yes.
Me
Hey!!!
