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"Nah," I say, to my surprise.
Why not tell him?
"Not surprised," Nolan says smugly. "Never seen a girl hate you as much as her. Although I don't think you were ever a bigger dick to anyone else. You're not the Lothario you think you are."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah - but maybe tonight you can prove me wrong?"
"Nah, you're right," I say. "Maybe I'm losing it."
Why not tell him?
"OK, cut the shit," Nolan says. "Seriously, man, I miss you. Let's go out tonight."
"I don't know. Not feeling it."
"Yeah, losing doesn't make me feel like the big man on campus either. Which is why we need to go out, get laid, and win. Like the good old days."
It does have its allure. Even only a few weeks ago, everything was so simple. I worked hard, played hard. Met hot girls, enjoyed them until I stopped.
And then came Kyra. Messing with my head.
"That a yes?" Nolan presses.
"That's a no," I say. "Let's do lunch tomorrow. Tonight, this loser needs sleep."
"Loser," Nolan whines.
"Loser," I shoot back.
"Congratulations, you're twelve."
"Congratulations, you, as my twin, are also twelve."
"I'm revoking our twinhood."
"What - really?"
Nolan sighs. "No. But I really wish you were coming tonight. Emerson is practicing this new Liszt piano piece, La Campa-something, and he won't shut up about it."
"Get him blackout drunk?"
"Obviously, but that'll take at least 30 minutes and a hundred dollars."
"Enjoy."
"Enjoy your piercing regret."
"Goodbye, Nolan."
"Night night, brother."
I hang up, frowning at the phone. Now that I think about it, tonight alone at home isn't exactly appealing. I can't remember the last time I've done it.
There's always been work to do, girls to see. Or just going out.
But tonight, there's nothing. Kyra was my plans.
Why did I say no? Why didn't I tell Nolan about Kyra and me?
Fuck it.
No good will come of thinking about it.
Chapter 10
Kyra
So that... just happened. My head is still spinning. It still feels like he's right beside me, scrambling my thoughts.
What I wouldn't give for one last kiss...
"That good, huh?" Pamela says knowingly, opening the front door of my place.
"Uh..."
She pulls me inside. "It's fine. I just called you to ask if you were OK with me reorganizing your shoe closet in the front - it's a horror, I found a stiletto inside your winter boot! - but then I heard your phone ring right outside and I realized you were standing right at the front door."
"Oh." I laugh. "Like a weirdo."
"Like a weirdo," she agrees, then, ruffling her lashes ludicrously, adds, "in looooove."
"Stop, please." I suddenly feel very, very tired. As if I was the one doing all the rowing today.
"I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have let myself in, but you said you'd be home in 10, and it has been 20, so..." She gives me a side squeeze. "Anyway. Yeah. I know how intense this must be for you."
"And I know how much of an idiot you must think I am," I say, staring at my doormat that Mom knitted. Was that run in the purple stripe always there? "I know I do."
"Not an idiot, no," she says quietly.
"Then what?"
She shrugs. "You were each other's end game. I saw it then. I get it. Hard to let go of something like that. Especially when it comes back new and supposedly improved."
Key word supposedly.
"But if we were each other's end game, then what happened?" I ask her, though the question isn't just for her. It's for me, Landon, the Universe. "Why did he just dump me like that?"
"I don't know." Another shrug, although this one looks as sad as I feel.
She doesn't deserve to have this heaped on her, though, to have her whole night shadowed under the burden of what I'm putting myself through.
"Ice cream?" I ask her, already heading for the kitchen.
"You mind-reader," she says, grinning.
After all, you can never have too much ice cream.
**
The next day is some much-needed mother-daughter bonding time. After our favorite lunch - melted cheese on a bagel - Madison and I cover our hands in every color of paint from the 12-in-1 pack I got from Michaels - all the colors of the rainbow, and then some. We press and smear and goob different sheets of printer paper with swirls, hearts, happy faces, laughably misshapen cats and other animals.
As we're cracking up about our latest creation, a three-headed violet and lime turkey, it hits me: when she laughs, her hazel eyes crinkle just like his.
"Mommy?" Madison says, as I race for the bathroom.
"Be right back," I croak.
Inside, I brace myself against the sink, glare at my reflection.
You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot. How could you have let this happen?
She doesn't have any answers, and neither do I.
All I know is that he's encroaching into my time with my daughter now, and it needs to stop. Maybe I shouldn't have left his texts this morning unread?
