My Rose

15. Rose

Chapter 15

Rose

“They can because they think they can.” ― Virgil

T wo new words emerged in my mind regarding Briggs Andrews as the clock moved from six to half-past six to seven with no sign of him at my door. Those two words?

Fucking. Liar.

It was a good thing my grandparents were on a dinner date of their own—otherwise, I had an inkling my grandfather would drive to Briggs’ house and pound the door down. Not only was I dressed up in the red dress he told me to wear—paired with heels this time—but I was also slumped over my bed, looking entirely too dejected.

I couldn’t think straight. I kept retracing our words, trying to see if I misunderstood what he’d said.

I won’t ever hurt you again, Rose. I promise.

Which only brought my mind straight back to how I felt as I watched the time on my phone change, yet again.

Fucking. Liar.

That was the only explanation. I don’t know why I thought I could trust Briggs in the first place. He continuously reminded me that he was no good for me, and I was too blinded by the good I did see in him to believe that had been his only lie.

My phone vibrated with a text from August and I moved to sit on the floor by the two initials.

August: Is tomorrow good for me to come by and show you that song I’ve been working on? Would really like your opinion.

I rolled my eyes, my finger tracing the M as I wondered what my mom, Margot, would have to say about the two men in my life. When had August become annoying? I shrugged it off, thinking perhaps I just hated all men at the moment. Moving onto the V , I couldn’t help but imagine my father had a nickname I didn’t know about, or maybe it was a friend from long ago.

Rose: Yeah, tomorrow is fine. Come over after work, around four .

It was also an hour after my grandparents would leave for their weekly games night. I didn’t want to mention food or remind him that he’d asked for a home-cooked meal from people who didn’t care about him, so their absence would do all the work for me in a more polite way.

August: Awesome. See you soon, Rosie-Toesie.

That was possibly the worst version of his dumbass nicknames I’d been subjected to yet.

Flipping the phone face-down, I lay flat on the area rug around my bed, staring at those two letters. Maybe asking about it wouldn’t be so hard if every time I mentioned my mother or the fact that my room was hers once caused my grandparents to be sad for the rest of the day. I sighed and let the rug fall back over the flooring. Maybe it should all just stay in the past, like my relationships with the two assholes I managed to get myself between.

Work dragged. Sucked, actually. Every time the doors opened, my heart rate kicked up as my head swung to see who’d come in. And every time, I was disappointed that it wasn’t a certain tall, green-eyed, tattooed man walking through. I don’t know why I thought he’d show up at my job that he probably had no idea I had in the first place, but I stupidly did. The good morning text I received from him earlier remained unanswered, and on my break, I was foolishly tempted to read the other two messages he sent hours after I didn’t reply. But I stuck to my guns and left them unread.

“You good, honey?” Janice asked. She was an older woman who helped me bag the groceries I rang up, and as another few items went by my register, her grey brows drew together, looking at me like I was some sort of hurt animal. “You look like…well, I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but you look terrible, sweetheart.”

I threw on a fake smile. “Thanks, Janice.” I finished ringing up some man’s groceries, watching him fumble for his wallet as he eyed his bags and counted something on his fingers. He probably didn’t realize the ten items he picked up were going to cost over a hundred dollars.

“Did you sleep at all? Late night studying?” She held out the bags for the man, and after his transaction went through successfully, he bolted from the door, all ten items in tow.

I nodded my head, rolling my lips in. “Yeah. Finals are coming up.” It was only a partial lie. Finals were coming up, but I wasn’t studying for them. I couldn’t focus on anything last night after Briggs didn’t show. The doors opened, and my eyes darted to the woman pushing a walker through the door. I sighed and pressed my back into the register.

“Oh no, sweetie. At least we get off in a few minutes, right?”

I nodded again, still staring at the door.

She positioned herself in front of me. “Taking the bus today?”

I caught myself before nodding again, realizing she was about to offer me a ride home in her car that reeked of cigarette smoke and cats. My head ended up bobbing around, halfway between a yes and a no . “I’ve uh…got a ride. Just remembered.” Every lie I told was only making me think of Briggs not showing up for our date. It would’ve made me laugh if it didn’t hurt so much to think about. Maybe those two messages—

No. Don’t check it.

I pushed my phone back into my pocket, where it needed to stay.

I waited for Janice to leave the parking lot after we clocked out. Her car screeched away, dragging the horrible smell along with it as she puffed on a cigarette through her rolled-down window.

The entire walk home, I pulled out my phone and hovered my thumb over the notifications—two more messages. Two more times he’d try to lie again or talk his way out of it, no doubt lying about wherever he was when he stood me up. Two more reasons I needed to keep my distance and forget about Briggs Andrews.

August’s sedan was parked in my driveway by the time I made it home. It was kind of surprising that the thought of calling him for a ride hadn’t crossed my mind once.

“Hey, Rosie.” His guitar case was slung over his back with a boho strap, unbrushed hair covered by a beanie, and a cigarette in hand only adding to his whole get-up. He took a final puff and stomped the butt out on my driveway.

I bent down and picked it up. “My grandfather really hates when you leave these out here, you know.”

He shrugged. “Tell him I can send someone out to clean it up.”

My key jammed into the lock on the door. “That’s not the point, August. ”

“God, Rosie. Don’t be such a prude. I’ll pick it up next time, don’t worry.” For someone who looked like he cared about the Earth, he sure as hell polluted it a lot.

I took off my shoes and left the door open behind me as I threw away the disgusting butt in my hand. At least his car didn’t smell like them like Janice’s did, but the rest of him…well, it wasn’t the citrus smell I was starting to really like.

“I’ll go set up in your room. Bring me a glass of water, please, Rosie. My voice is a little crackly today.” His hand scraped down the length of his stubbled, thin neck.

“Sure,” I muttered beside the trash can, irritation seeping from my pores. Listlessly, I got two glasses and made my way to my bedroom, where August was propped on my bed with his shoes tossed in the corner. He patted the bed, and I plopped down next to him. Our shoulders touched as he settled in with his guitar across his stomach, and I shifted in the other direction.

“Ready? I’ve been working on this for a few weeks now.”

“Can’t wait,” I replied. He grinned, missing my lackluster response, then took a pick from his mouth and started to play. I closed my eyes and leaned back on my elbows, trying to hide my face. The strings he was hitting, the chords he was singing, and that rasp…it was all wrong.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I stupidly jumped and pulled it out.

August stopped playing as he glared at my phone. “Briggs, huh? What’s up with that? Are you guys a thing?” Guess he didn’t miss the name on my screen .

I put my phone face down on my thigh. “Not really, no.” August’s fingers tapped along the body of his guitar, the look on his face telling me he didn’t believe me one bit. “What about you and what’s her face?” The only jealousy I felt in saying her name was knowing she was once with Briggs.

“Clarissa? We’ve hung out a few times, but she’s nothing special.” He shrugged as he leaned against me more. His face changed from incredulous to what I believed might be flirty, a smirk lifting his lips in a way that seemed crooked and not as smooth as he probably hoped it looked. Every ounce of attraction I thought I had for him was vanishing faster than I ever thought possible. The Rose from weeks ago would have loved having August Coleman on her bed, looking at her like that.

“Okay, okay. But, seriously, let me finish, and then we can talk.” His thumb brushed up my forearm. “You’re going to love the ending.”

“Mmm,” was all I could get out. He smiled back and finished the rest of his song. At one point, I wanted to nudge him to correct the sound coming from his throat. He’d only tell me I knew nothing about true vocals. He had private music lessons and knew best, after all.

“What do you think? Did I just melt your heart?” He smirked crookedly at me again, his blond hair pushing back further into my pillows as he relaxed beside me. I made a note to wash my pillowcases later because his hair smelled like cigarettes and looked kind of greasy. He’d probably been too busy with Clarissa to notice he needed a shower. Or five. I searched his face, his once beautiful, dark blue, oceanic eyes now reminiscent of blueberries.

I hated blueberries.

So, I lied. “It was good, August. I liked that one part about the moon. It was a good metaphor.” It was terrible. The entire thing sounded like a five-year-old wrote it.

“I’m glad you like it.” He set his guitar down beside him on the bed and turned to face me, his entire body aligning with mine. Or, trying to. I turned my head to look up at the ceiling fan, my back flat on my mattress. “I bet Briggs can’t play guitar.” He tapped his thumb on the pillow as he glanced at my phone, which was still face-down on my thigh.

I pushed my hand through my hair. “I wouldn’t know.” Yet, I highly doubted he did. Briggs’ fingers were callused and worn but in a dangerous sort of way. It wasn’t from strings. I was almost positive Briggs would refuse to share anything in common with August, so a guitar was probably far from his mind.

“I thought you guys were close?”

“Not really sure what you mean.” I exhaled slowly, mentally counting the fan blades as they whipped around in a circle. Briggs and I weren’t exactly close, but we weren’t not close, either. I knew two things for sure—I hadn’t stopped wanting to kiss him since the first time we did, and he was quickly becoming all I thought about during the day and when I lay in bed at night. He was a mystery—an enigma I wanted to dive headfirst into. Until he stood me up. Now I just wanted to slap him and then grab his stupid face and kiss him, then slap him all over again .

“Oh, Rosie.” I cringed as he continued, “Not every guy who comes around is going to want the same things you do.” My eyes narrowed, his words not really making any sense. Did he even know the things I wanted? Most likely not because he never asked.

I let the silence sink in around us, my body frozen to the mattress. August pushed his tongue into his cheek as he continued to eye me over, the feeling like tiny pins across my skin. “You know, I meant to tell you how hot you looked at my party the other night.” The one from over a week ago? The lack of heat in my cheeks was so noticeable it was embarrassing. Not that August noticed. “I don’t know if I should say the things I was thinking of doing to you.”

“Umm…thank you?” I forced out, finally feeling that bit of heat but in all the wrong ways. He inclined his head closer to me, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Was he going to—

“You actually look kind of hot right now, Rosie, and I’m still thinking…maybe…” His hand inched into the space between us. My mind raced. Did I still want to kiss him? Did I like him as much as I thought I did? My phone vibrated on my leg, and I didn’t have to check to know it was Briggs.

August’s hand snaked onto my leg and slid up my thigh, his fingers so close to areas that felt like they were on fire before under Briggs’ touch, but with August’s? I felt nothing. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I felt something. But it wasn’t pleasant. “Are you going to check that?” he whispered, aiming for a seductive voice that fell flat, like his song had.

Was I going to check it? I lifted it, confirming it was Briggs. Four messages, and by the time I set it down again after not checking a single one of them, it became five. “He’d be so pissed if he saw me here with you, in your bed.” Which was part of why this all felt so wrong. I felt like I was cheating, but that wasn’t right. Briggs stood me up, effectively ending whatever we had started.

“Do you still want me, Rosie?” I made a small noise because I had no idea what to say, and that’s how I felt—small. I was uncomfortable, and I wished my grandfather would just walk through the door and shoo him out so I could crawl back into my skin. “He doesn’t have to know. It’s just you and me here.” His eyes turned into obscenely shiny blueberries as they glanced down at my chest, turning wicked and vile like the things he appeared to be thinking about.

I wanted to throw up.

“Wh-what do you mean by that?”

August laughed. “Oh, he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” I put my hand over his, trying to stop his advances as he crept higher along my waist. He chuckled and grabbed on, twining our fingers. Mine stiffened, unmoving against his.

“His ex wanted me more than him.” His hand started moving down toward my waistband, dragging my hand with it. “I mean, I don’t want her anymore, so it shouldn’t hinder what’s between us. But he’s all hurt over it after all these years.” Between us? There was nothing between us. He made sure of that by distancing himself so far from me, he might as well have pushed our friendship into a giant, gaping crater and lit it on fire as it fell.

But he picked the wrong girl to set fire to. “You and Clarissa, you mean? Are you the one she cheated on him with?” I sat up and yanked my hand from him forcefully, my anger rising five notches as it all clicked into place. That’s why Briggs didn’t like him. August just chuckled and tried to pull me back down to my bed beside him. When my entire body tensed, I knew what direction I was going to take this in, and I didn’t have to think twice about it.

“You know what, August?” His blueberry eyes popped open more, and that smart smirk fell from his face as I glared down at him. “There’s nothing between us, and there won’t be anything between us. You think admitting to being a part of that makes you a man? Do you think that makes you look cute or something?” My hands started to shake with anger. “It doesn’t. It makes you look…” I pointed at him. “It makes you look like the tool you really are.” I shifted my finger from him to the door. “Get out of my house, and take your stupid fucking guitar with you.” I stood up, walked over to the other side of the bed, and lifted his guitar up, shoving it into his chest as he sat up. “Leave. Now.”

He looked shocked. Good. “Woah, Rosie. What gives? I came here to finally pop your cherry, and this is what you—”

I laughed. So loud I felt the walls of my bedroom shake. Or maybe that was just my head exploding with whatever dream I was snapping out of after all those years wasted on him. “Pop my cherry? Are you kidding me?” I grabbed the guitar from his hands, stormed to the front door, and threw it hard, aiming right for his car. I missed the hood but managed to hit the edge of the front tire.

He rushed past me, pushing his feet into his shoes. “Hey! You’re going to pay for that! ”

“Pay for what? Better lessons for you? Your song sucked, by the way. Now get away from me, and don’t ever come back here again.” A huge, heavy weight lifted from me just as my phone vibrated again. I was so worked up I had half a brain to throw it on the ground and stomp on it. Instead, I stared down at it as it shook in my hands, blocking out the sounds of August slamming his car door and speeding off down the road.

I finally did it . I’d finally pushed through whatever feelings I thought I had for August Coleman and opened my eyes to the reality of him.

And that reality was fucking awful.