Chapter 14 Sadie
fourteen
Sadie
I swear I’m not a dramatic person. Not typically. But tonight is definitely challenging that claim.
Because I’ve been standing in front of my mirror for fifteen minutes, trying to decide if my hair looks better down or half-up. Which wouldn’t be a crisis except for one tiny, humiliating detail: Colson tucked my hair behind my ear. Once. And I simply haven’t recovered.
Maren walks in and I know it’s her because the click-clack of her heels, after the shut of the door, is one of her staples. She comes up behind me and rests her hands on my shoulders.
“You better spill. You’re making that face,” she announces.
“What face?”
She sits up and points her phone at me like a weapon. “The one that says you have a secret.”
“I do not make a face.” I do everything I can to soften whatever look I’m giving her.
“You absolutely do. It’s rare, considering how we tell each other everything.”
I groan and flop my head forward into my hands. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” she teases, patting my back. “You hate that I’m that good. Now, let me guess—does this have something to do with Mr. Hot Rage.”
I lift my head. “He tucked my hair behind my ear. It wasn’t even romantic.”
Maren squeals and I’m trying my best not to let the flush hit my cheeks.
She grins. “You like him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying! I don’t even know him all that much.”
“Okay, then explain why you’re acting like you’re about to make a life altering decision with your hair.” She gestures to my hands that are holding half of it up, again, as I try to determine what looks best.
I stare at her. “Because I want to look presentable.”
“Presentable?” She repeats it like it’s the funniest word she’s ever heard. “Babe. Aren’t you going to Cherry Pit? They’ve had events where they encourage people to leave actual cherry pits on the floors and tables.”
“That was one time!” I’m amazed at my best friend’s ability to remember almost everything.
She’s right. I just don’t want her to know that. Something changed that night at the beach. I’d be lying if I wasn’t around town that weekend, hoping I’d casually run into Colson even knowing that would be the absolute last place I would find him.
He could’ve played off the whole thing at the beach as if it never happened. Never bring it up. But he didn’t. And the way he was thanking me… I didn’t expect it. Maybe that’s why this is catching me off guard.
It wasn’t a throwaway comment. He meant it. And this could be the start of the steep downfall I feel I may be plummeting towards when it comes to Colson Burke.
I let out a strangled groan and hide my face in my hands, mostly trying to hide my expression. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I hate how much they hurt.
“He’s hard to explain,” I mutter into my palms. “Like, he’s intentional.”
Maren scoots to the edge of her hair, elbows rested on her knees. “Intentional?”
I peek at her. “You know what I mean.”
“Sure I do.”
“And he’s kind. Like unexpectedly kind.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “And tall.”
I give her a side eye glance, “He’s an NBA player. Typically, they are tall.”
“And hot.”
I glare at her. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I’m happy to fill in that blank that you always seem to neglect to mention.” Her words drip with the happy type of sarcasm I typically love her for.
I throw my head back, eyes on the ceiling. “I’m doomed.”
“Completely,” she agrees, “but in a fun way.”
My phone buzzes. The screen lights up with a notification for a message from Colson. Maren looks at me and immediately starts to clap. “Girl. I’ll get out of here so you can get to your date.” She rubs her hands together like she’s an evil scientist and her plan is finally going to work.
Blowing out a breath, I argue, “It’s not a date.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders and lightly shakes them. “Keep telling yourself that.”
The realization of the unanswered question hangs between us and I can feel the weight pulling on me from the inside out. Thoughts rush through like they have somewhere to be. Dating. Relationships. Feelings. Leaving.
Maybe that’s part of this? Yes, I’ve been on a few dates since Nick, but nothing has really ever happened that I’d consider serious, or significant. Honestly, I’ve spent more time with Colson than anyone other than Maren.
When did that happen? One minute he’s the ass next door and the rec kids are denting his car; the next I’m meeting him downtown. In between are all the hours in the gym. It sort of came out of nowhere and my brain can barely make sense of the way I’m looking forward to seeing him tonight.
My face must give me away because Maren is all over it. “Are you okay? You know I’m only giving you a hard time, right?”
I nod, unsure of what my voice would sound like if I used words.
Her eyes feel like they’re looking into my soul when she gently says, “If you’re thinking about Nick, don’t. It’s been more than enough time and that dickbag deserves no more of your energy.”
Like a true hype girl, Maren makes sure to include an insult for one of her least favorite people. I wouldn’t say she was ever a Nick fan, but she was happy that I was happy. They bickered whenever we were together and she loved standing up to him, having the upper hand.
A few months before he called off the wedding, she brought it up a single final time.
It was like I was living in a romcom and the maid of honor was giving me an out, telling me she’d drive the getaway car.
No questions asked. She promised she’d never say “I told you so,” a promise she’s still kept.
When she asked, there was a seedling of doubt, one I chalked up as normal, something everyone harbors when entering into a new phase of life.
Turns out I should’ve listened to my intuition, because it wasn’t long before he was telling me that he loved me, but he fell in love with someone else. Have you ever heard such a thing? The casual “I love you, but” and saying it in a way that was meant to feel it wasn’t that bad.
Spoiler alert: it was that fucking bad. For some reason, all the feelings of not being enough creep up, like when you’re trying not to be embarrassed but everyone can see the crimson of your cheeks like the biggest fucking tell.
Maren lightly shakes me, bringing me back to the moment. “Babe, quit doing that. I can see it. No need to relive, especially now. You’re having a fabulous hair day, some hot professional athlete with biceps you could fall into is about to meet you, and Cherry Pit serves booze.”
She shrugs and pinches my cheek, touching where they ached a minute ago.
“You’re right.” I try to shake off the depressing trip down memory lane, like I’m willing myself back to the moment.
She’s smiling, looking at my phone, where the unread notification lights up my screen. “Go! Before he thinks you bailed and starts emotionally spiraling like the sensitive king he is.”
I smack her arm. “He does not spiral.”
“He absolutely spirals.”
Her hands land on my shoulders, steadying me. “Deep breath. Have some fun tonight. You are allowed to do that every now and again.” Maren wraps me up in a hug.
“Okay,” I exhale. “Okay. You’re right.”
She grins. “Text me updates. Or emergencies. Or if you see him naked!” She’s halfway out the door, yelling the last part over her shoulder.
“Maren!” I yell after her, trying not to laugh.
I come back to the mirror, running my hands through my hair another time and solidifying the choice to leave it down for once. It’s like the universe knew I needed a pep talk, or whatever Maren was trying to accomplish.
Still blushing, still nervous.
Still hopelessly, stupidly excited.