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Mish: Don’t you though?
I called her. “What the fuck does that mean?” I asked, overtired and defensive.
“It means that I think your current slut phase is more like a cry for his attention,” she sighed into the phone.
“I’m no good for him, Mish. I’m a single mother with a crazy, fucked up family and mental health issues.”
“And he’s a recovering drug addict.”
“Which is exactly why he needs to be with someone more stable.”
“You should let him decide, Cee. It’s not like he doesn’t know. I’m just saying, either admit you’re in love with the guy or set him free. Anything in between is just selfish and hurting him.”
I flinched. “Wow. I did not expect such a slap in the face this early in the week.” But she wasn’t wrong.
“Just trying to help a friend pull her head out of her ass.”
“You get caught fucking one rockstar in a club bathroom and suddenly you’re the authority on relationships?” I joked.
“It doesn’t take an expert to see what you two have. And you, my dear, have a smoking hot best friend who would die for you and wants to fuck your brains out. Give the man what he wants. You know you want it too. He’s the reason you’re feeling slutty, and you know it.”
Ouch. The last few weeks living with Eli had been harder than they should have been. He just slipped right in like he belonged with Wyatt and me, and it was confusing. We had a clear ’friends only’ relationship since high school. While we’ve spent many nights sleeping next to each other, outside of one kiss years ago, nothing more than that ever happened.
Mish was right. Somewhere in my crazy head, I knew he wanted more. He offered to tell people that Wyatt was his. I never even told him who Wyatt’s dad was.
“So, what, I just start fucking him?” I sighed in frustration.
“Catherine Elizabeth Fuller, did you just admit you want to fuck Eli?” She was genuinely shocked. I had a strict policy of denial.
“What if I fuck it all up?” I chewed a hangnail.
“Don’t fuck it up. Once you give in to this, you’re in it. He’s waited years for you to be ready.”
“That’s not helping.”
Now:
“And this is when you screwed his brains out, right?” Sergio whispered.
I yawned. “Almost. But I’m going to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”
Twenty-Three
Then:
I’d love to say that Eli came home that afternoon and I threw my reservations out the window and made a move, but that would be both too easy and a lie.
I was scared. So instead of doing what I should, I did the exact opposite. I got sluttier. Not only did I spend another Saturday night with Myles, but I also screwed around with Ben in the office at work after one of my shifts.
That place was the ultimate rumor mill, so I knew Eli knew it happened, too. It was like I made it my personal mission to make my best friend hate me and run for the hills.
But Eli wasn’t as afraid of a relationship as I was. He doubled down in his efforts to remind me he knew I was acting out and just kept on taking care of me. I oscillated between supremely annoyed with him for not taking the hint and annoyed with myself for being a first-class bitch. The more I fucked around, the worse I felt. So naturally, I fucked around more to forget that I felt shitty, and the cycle perpetuated itself.
And yet, there he was, day after day, making me dinner, taking care of Wyatt, doing my fucking laundry. Lying next to me in bed on the nights I cried myself to sleep. Nothing deterred him, which only terrified me more. At some point, I assumed he would hit his limit and be gone. I loved him, and I wanted him to be happy without my bullshit. And because I loved him, the idea of him not being there also crushed my soul.
I was my own enemy in this. Logically, I could see it. Emotionally, it didn’t matter.
One night I decided, in a somewhat drunken rage, to tell him the only secret I’d ever kept from him. He was being supportive as I sat at the kitchen table, drinking myself stupid after work.
