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It’s kind of like those oldChoose Your Own Adventurebooks. Whatever choice you make leads to a certain outcome. That outcome leads to further choices you need to make. I can’t advise you beyond making that first choice.
Say you talk to your friend and the answer is YES, they like the same person. You have a choice at this point, a choice that depends on your friend. Does your friend want you to back off and leave the lane open? Choose Pursuit, or choose Back Off… the outcome will continue to become either more complicated or easier as you progress.
Maybe your friend really doesn’t care what you do, but they are up front about pursuing this person, themselves. So you have a different set of choices. Pursue, knowing you’ll be doing so with your friend. Are you competing with each other or collaborating with each other?
Or, say you talk to your friend and the answer is NO, they don’t like the same person. That makes things pretty easy, and you were worried for nothing.
So, that’s that. It all starts with communication.
And your final question? How to apologize for being an asshole? It’s a cliche, but it’s a cliche for a reason. Actions speak louder than words. Stop being an asshole. It might take a little time before this person trusts the new you, but you have to show them, over and over, that you are a new person.
Hope this helps,
Casanova
Chapter 17: Jude
Grabbing a tray from the stack, I made my way to the nearest food bar and, after a longing glance at the cheeseburgers, quickly filled my tray with pasta for carbs, chicken for protein, and a large portion of steamed vegetables. Food was my comfort place, but with that stupid uniform I had to wear at Sugar Babes, I had to watch what I ate. As I turned to find a table, my gaze snagged on a nearby table filled with several guys, among them Ezra and Baron. They watched as I walked past to an empty table a short distance away, Ezra with his chronic smirk and Baron with a hooded expression. I smiled, and Baron looked down at his tray. Ezra gave a barely noticeable tip of his chin in greeting.
I frowned as I found a nearby table and sat. Just what every girl wanted after a guy made out with her and sucked on her boobs. A chin tip. And not even abrochin tip. It was more of the ‘I see you but let’s just keep this discreet’ variety of chin tips. Jesus, did he want me there or not? He was the king of mixed signals.
I set my bag down beside my tray with more force than necessary. My movements were jerky as I speared a bite of broccoli. For some reason, Ezra’s scant acknowledgment didn’t surprise me too much, even as it bothered me. I’d seen that when he didn’t have his head buried in a math puzzle, Ezra liked to tease. He liked to play. If he wasn’t teasing, he didn’t care. So a chin tip was simply his way of trying to provoke a reaction.
It was Baron’s broody gaze that really hurt. I had thought he liked me. In the library, he’d been allyou can trust me, Pinky. You can talk to me.Did he not want to acknowledge me in public for some reason?
“Ah…Jude?” I looked up at my name to see a guy standing across from me, an uncertain expression on his face. He was lean and tall, saved from being lanky by the span of impressive shoulders that indicated athleticism. He was holding his own tray of food, with a backpack sliding off of his shoulder to hang on the crook of his elbow.
“That’s me,” I responded.
“Mind if I sit?”
I felt my eyes widen and gestured. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” I watched him as he dropped his tray to the table and the bag to the floor, shoving it beneath the table with his toe. He was acting so familiar, but I didn’t have the foggiest idea who he was.
He started eating, lifting his eyes to me once to find me squinting at him. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Busted.”
“It’s all good. I’m in your ancient civ class.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I’m terrible with faces.”
He waved my apology away with his fork. “Name’s Colin. I’m not particularly good with names and faces, either, but you have memorable hair.” He paused to swallow. “Especially for a classics major.”
My hand went to the ends of my hair. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So, what’s your story?”
“My story?”
“Yeah. You show up here for your senior year, don’t know anyone, and then I see you walking out of the Elites’ dorm—”
“The Elites?”
“Baron, Ezra, and Galen? Yeah. They were dubbed the Elites freshman year. Kind of stupid but appropriate for them. They’ve always considered themselves a step above, if you know what I mean.”
I had no clue what he meant, but after my experience in New York I tried to ignore gossip. I raised my chin and tried to decide how to answer. After a minute I shrugged. “Just needed a change of pace, so I transferred.”
“Where’d you transfer from?”
