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“I don’t.”
“Then why do you have it?” There she goes with those wheels spinning. “Oh, was this. . . in case you had a friend over?”
“I don’t have a friend. I just have it.”
“Oh,” is all she returns with. “Well, I don’t either. Have a friend if you were wondering. So you don’t think we’re doing something wrong here.”
There she goes, ruining a moment. “I wasn’t worried. You want the bottle or not?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
I hand her the bottle opener, grab my other glass, and take it down in one sip.
“So, what? You’re mad again? Are you ever not mad?”
“Not mad, Cal.”
“Uh, pretty sure we were on our way to some sort of middle ground until you got all pissy with me.”
“You’re just overthinkin’ it.”
“I’m not. Jesus. Since when did you become so damn stubborn?”
“Since I’ve had a lot of time to think.” I turn and walk over to the window when something hits my back. I look down at the wine cork, then cock my head. “You throw that at me?”
“Shame it was your back and not your eye. If you’re going to make a comment like that, then finish it. What did you have to think about?”
“Okay. Fine. I had a lot of time to think about us. You. What went wrong. Questioned myself. Did I ever do anything to make you believe I would ever stray? Did I miss the signs that maybe, somehow, you’d fallen out of love with me, and that’s why it was so easy for you to walk away—”
“It wasnoteasy.”
“Looked easy to me.”
“How dare you? You havenoidea what I went through.”
“I could say the same.” I hate how she looks at me. Hurt, confused. Like I’m the only bad guy in all of this. And I’m sick to death of being that to her.
“Easton, I don’t want to fight with you. I’m done battling with who got hurt worse.” My fists clench at my sides as a tear slips down her cheek. “I thought we could call a truce. Put it in the past. Because I can’t keep rehashing this. It’s hurting us both, and we both have deep scars to show for it.” She grabs the bottle of wine and her glass. “But that seems impossible. Because you’re too weighed down by that chip on your shoulder.”
She walks past me. I ache to grab her and pull her in my arms, but I restrain myself. Just before she disappears into my bedroom, she calls back. “It’s my turn to slam a bedroom door and hide. Enjoy the couch.” And then, as promised, she slams the door behind her.
Chapter eight
Callie
Ican’trunupthe stairs fast enough. Easton is going to freak out when he sees the concert tickets I just scored. His birthday is next weekend, and I had to sell a kidney to get them, but it’ll be worth the look on his face.
I dig through my purse to find my keys, locate the one to his apartment, and slide it in. Unlocking the door, I push it open and walk in, but I’m brought up short. I gasp at the view in front of me. My keys fall from my hands, grabbing Easton's attention.
“Fuck, Cal, this is not what it looks like.”
The woman gripping him, naked, doesn’t even bother to look my way. “Yes, it is,” she giggles, pushing her hands deeper into his pants.
I can’t stop staring. I grab my stomach as if someone just punched me in the gut.
“Get the fuck off me. Cal, please—”
I turn around and sprint down the stairs. I thrust open the outer door, gasping for air, but I still can’t breathe. Clutching my throat, I choke on a broken sob. Easton is behind me. “Cal, I swear to fucking God, that was not—”
