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“Nothing,” I say as I stand up from the couch and brush past her on the way to my room.
“No way, you don’t get to take your anger out on me because you’re mad at some boy.” She follows me to my room, feet heavy behind me.
“Like you even care what I do. You’re so far up Asher’s ass to even notice your so-called best friend is in pain.” Again, I don’t seem to have any control over my words andpainis a pretty strong one.Am I really in pain from what Callan did?If so, I really do have some serious problems to work on “You didn’t even tell me that he asked you to move in with him,” I add.
“No, I didn’t. Because I hadn’t made any decisions on what I wanted to do. I wanted to ask you for your opinion but as usual, we always end up talking about you and your drama and your life. Which is fine, because I’m your best friend and I want to talk about these things with you. But I don’t deserve this, Sterling and you’re acting very immature. I think you need to look at the bigger picture here, not everything is about you.” Dakota is standing in the doorway while I rustle through my closet pretending not to listen, but really, her words cut like a knife. Before I get the chance to respond, Dakota is already storming off to her room.
She’s right. She has been supportive of my weird situation-ship with Callan, even though she already knew he was a total ass who would end up hurting me. She was right the entire time. She’s the last person I should be taking my anger out on.
I take a deep breath ready to walk out of my room and over to Dakota’s to apologize but before I make it across the hallway, the front door is slamming shut. I hear the lock turn and I realize that she’s left, probably headed for Asher’s. I’ve created such a mess tonight.
I wake up from my nap feeling like shit. Sundays are usually the perfect day for me to unwind and prepare for the upcoming week but today feels like a train wreck and I literally just opened my eyes. I was a mess last night.Everything is a mess.
I wander over to Dakota’s room and it’s still empty. I know she’s probably still mad at me, but I need to fix this.
Dakota, I know I was a jerk earlier. I was angry and took it out on you. Can we talk?
I hit send, then immediately face my phone down. I know staring at the screen and waiting for her response would only increase my anxiety. I hop into the shower hoping to distract myself for a while.
My mind drifts from Dakota to Callan. It’s hard to decipher where things went wrong last night. And I’m the asshole who let it bleed into my morning.
Why was I even mad?The entire night was basically an emotional whiplash on a loop. I don’t know why I was so surprised by his behavior; I knew he was trouble. I knew not to get involved. And here I am being a big baby about my boss turning me down.
Why should I care so much? We are nothing but coworkers so this shouldn’t be an issue in the first place. But the way he makes me feel, intentional or not, is unreal.
And that kiss.
There was something different about it. I felt it to my core, and I know he felt it too. And sure, he kissed me to be an asshole, to warn me that we can’t proceed, to tell me I’d be disappointed and then fed me some bullshit about roses. But I can’t get the feel of his lips removed from mine no matter how hard I scrub. His touch and scent linger on me even after lathering up with my own floral body wash. Am I drawn to the gray parts of him, of his actions? Maybe, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. Don’t most women spend a majority of their time running from these kinds of things? And here I am overlooking it all because he’s the only one who’s making me feel…seen.
After my long shower, I throw on a pair of leggings and a hoodie. I start combing my hair when I hear my phone vibrate on the counter. I rush to it, hoping Dakota has texted back. I open the message notification on my phone, but it’s not from who I was expecting.
Last night did not go the way either of us planned. But I really think we should talk. Can we meet?
I take a beat to reread the message. But before I can decide if I want to respond, my phone is ringing in my hand, almost as if he could read my thoughts.
I quickly slide the red decline button across the screen. But just as quick, another text comes through.
You don’t need to be immature about this, Sterling. I really would like to talk.
I type out a response, then delete it. I’m not sure what to say.
Immature?That’s the second time someone has called me that and both from people I care about.
Care about…can I really say that about Callan?
I really would like to talk to him, and maybe figure that out. I’ve never really had afightwith a man before, I don’t usually talk to one long enough to get that chance. And the war in my heart has to mean something, right?
Another message buzzes in.
Please.
Is Callan begging? I love how good that feels but I also hate how quickly I respond, my fingers type faster than my brain has time to catch up.
Pick me up in twenty.
I attempt to do something with my wavy hair, opting for a messy top knot and throw on a dusting of blush, realizing I looked a little pale. I take one final deep breath before heading out the door.
I don’t make it far before something catches my eye. An envelope is taped to my front door. I lock up before pulling it from the door and opening it. I wonder how long it’s been sitting here, if Dakota didn’t notice it when she left this morning. As I start reading, my eyes fill with tears and knots form in my stomach.
