2. Simon
When my best friend Shane called today to ask if I’d tag along to catering appointments for his fake wedding, I was reluctant. And that’s aside from the fact that he and Amelia aren’t really engaged. I think. I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure they know either.
My immediate thought was to make myself scarce. What kind of support can I be when we’re just seeing whose chicken sucks the least?
Then I thought about it. I was already in Nashville for some business meetings I have to attend to tomorrow. I had originally planned to spend my day on the golf course or scouting potential houses or buildings I could buy. But that doesn’t seem nearly as much fun as going with Shane to the catering company that employs Charlie.
Because yes, I figured out who catered Jake and Whitley’s wedding. Yes, I asked Shane if this was one we were going to. I even called to see if she was working.
She is.
And would you look at this? There she is. Looking as flustered and pissed off as ever.
Good. Now she knows how it feels.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Her voice is clipped, and her face is turning redder by the second. For some reason, that only makes me smile. She was always cute when she was angry.
“Out of all the catering companies in all of Nashville…”
Am I pretending I didn’t know this was going to happen? Yes.
Does that make me a prick? Probably.
“What are you doing here?”
I give her a nonchalant shrug as I pat Shane on the back, his face in utter confusion. “I’m the best man at this guy’s wedding. I’m here to taste the food. Make sure it doesn’t have poison in it.”
“He’s not my best man,” Shane says.
Rude.
“Don’t listen to him,” I say. “So what do we have here today?”
It’s been four months since I’ve seen Charlie. Four months since I’ve had to come to grips with the fact that the one who got away is within my reach. At least geographically. Four months of telling myself every day that she wants nothing to do with me.
Which means I should want nothing to do with her.
There’s only one problem with that: It sucks, and I don’t like it.
I spent fifteen years pushing away the thoughts of Charlie. And I did it. I forgot about the pain she caused when I found out she was gone. I had erased the memory of the last time I saw her. I reluctantly accepted I was never going to know why she left.
Then I saw her, and everything came flooding back. Only this time I haven’t been able to push it back.
And frankly, I don’t want to.
I slowly pull back my chair and sit down, my eyes fixed on Charlie. I make a show of taking my napkin and giving it a snap before draping it across my lap. Judging by the death glare she is giving me, she doesn’t appreciate my show.
Again, rude.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.”
Charlie’s voice is shaky, but I push that aside. Because all I’m remembering right now is my begging voice when I saw her in April and how she told me to leave.
“Why not, Bug? Can’t concentrate with me around? It’s a problem for many.”
My cocky response only seems to frustrate her more. Good. That’s what I was going for. I always loved riling her up until her cheeks flushed.
“Why are you the way you are?”
“We’ve been asking that question for years,” Shane remarks.
“Oh, stop. You love me,” I say to Shane before turning back to Bug. “Now, what are we eating? I just had a mean chicken piccata that it’s your job to beat.”
The two of us lock eyes in a standoff. If someone were to walk in here and see this, I’m guessing they would be very confused. There’s Charlie, taking visible, deep breaths in what I’m assuming is her futile attempts to calm herself. Then there’s me, sitting back in my chair, my foot now resting on my knee, my hands relaxed on the chairs next to mine like I don’t have a care in the world.
I do, but she’s not going to know that. Because I want her angry. I want her mad. I know it’s petty and I should be a bigger man, but I’m not. This woman broke my heart without a care in the world, so I don’t feel bad for a second.
Charlie turns to Shane, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Shane, I think it would be best if we rescheduled. Maybe when you can come with your fiancée. Or I can have one of our servers bring you out the courses for you to choose from.”
Ha! Victory. Simon 1, Charlie 0.
Just as I start relishing in my small win of getting under her skin, I see Shane shoot a look to me.
“Can you just fucking stop it?” he asks.
“What? I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re existing.”
Shane grits out those last two words, and since they were accompanied by a death glare, I’m guessing I’ve pushed this as far as I can today.
Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
“Fine.” I stand up and toss the napkin back to the table, but make sure to lock eyes with Charlie. “I’ll leave. Because I’m a real gentleman. I know where I’m not wanted. I don’t lie. I don’t lead people on. I’m not a douchebag who leaves or lies to you, even though that’s how you’ve decided to treat me. I’m apparently just another asshole who leaves you crying. Isn’t that right Bug?”
Charlie’s face goes from mad to horrified in a second, and I realize that I did it. I crossed the line.
Because I’m a fucking asshole.
And not my normal lovable brand of asshole. A true one. One that intentionally hurts people I care about. Or did care about. Or still do. Fuck, I don’t know. I just know that Charlie is on the verge of tears.
And I put them there.
“Please leave, Simon.”
I nod and don’t fight her. In fact, if she wouldn’t have asked me to leave I would have showed myself the door. Because the moment I said it, I knew I went too far. I give Bug one more look, this time one of apology, though she doesn’t see it. She’s too busy turning away, trying to fight back tears.
Without another word, I walk out of the dining room. I hear Shane say something to Charlie, but I don’t register what it is. I can’t hear anything over the voice in my head chastising me for hurting her.
And because that’s not good enough, the second I step into the hot August air I let out an actual scream I’m sure anyone in a three-block radius can hear.
It still doesn’t make me feel better.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I mean to be a prick? Yes. Did I want to get under her skin because every day for the past four months she’s been under mine? Also yes. But I don’t hurt people. Unless I hate you.
And as much as I want to, I’ll never hate Charlie.
I’ll hate how she left.
I’ll hate how she’s made me feel.
I’ll hate that I still care about her.
But I’ll never hate her.
Even though I’m pretty sure she hates me.
Before today I always wondered why. Because based on my memories of the last time we saw each other, she did the opposite of hate me. Okay, she might not have loved me, but she definitely liked me.
I mean, she kissed me, for fuck’s sake.
Now after today I won’t have to wonder why she hates me. Because, shockingly, my impulsive actions and words have consequences.
Who knew?
This isn’t the first time my big mouth has gotten me in trouble. But that’s who I am. I’m impulsive. Sometimes reckless. I say what’s on my mind without thinking things through. I set my mind on something and then I’m so blinded by tunnel vision I don’t see the possible outcome of my actions.
Take today. All I wanted was for Charlie to feel how I felt at the wedding. Angry and frustrated and helpless.
Instead I brought up a memory I’m sure she’d rather not think about.
“Charlie working tonight?”
I know Bug works Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from ten in the morning until three at Perks, the campus coffee shop on Lane Avenue, but I’m not entirely sure what her schedule is on a Saturday night. At least, I’m not sure what the real schedule is. Every time I ask her out on a Saturday she says she has to work. Though I have a sneaking suspicion that’s just an excuse.
“Nope,” a worker I don’t recognize says. “Won’t be back until Monday.”
I say thanks as I make my way back to my off-campus house. It’s empty tonight; my roommates all decided to go to our fraternity house and Emmett, my only friend who isn’t a frat brother, is out of town.
I don’t know why I didn’t feel like going out. It’s a Saturday night in April. Campus is jumping. Everyone has come out of the winter fog and is here for spring.
Except me.
I wasn’t feeling it. And I haven’t been feeling it for a while.
Nothing excites me. Don’t get me wrong, the premise of college life is the best. But I’m also someone who gets bored easily. So the monotony of parties and booze and girls every weekend on repeat is getting boring.
I need something new. Something different. Something to push me out of my comfort zone.
I need Bug.
She’s the only one who can make me think outside my box. She’s the only one I don’t see what’s coming a mile away. Everything that comes out of her mouth is interesting.
I head to the crosswalk and wait for the light to change when I hear the telltale sign of a sob.
I look around to see a woman sitting on the steps to one of the buildings. Her blonde hair is covering her face and her body is jerking. I almost turn to go home, but I take one more glance just as she looks up.
Bug….
It takes me only a few strides to get to her, and yet, I’m not to her in enough time. I can’t stand to hear the sound of a woman’s tears. It’s probably because I grew up in a house with four sisters, but when I hear a woman cry, I immediately want to hurt the person who did it.
And because it’s Charlie? I want to fucking murder them.
“Bug?”
She slowly starts looking up at me, and my heart shatters. Her mascara is smeared, her hair is sticking to her forehead, and her lipstick is a mess.
Her red lipstick that always drives me fucking crazy.
“Simon?”
Her sobs start coming again so I quickly move to the step next to her, bringing her into my arms. “Shh…I got you.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, though I can tell she’s doing her best to make herself quit crying. I want to ask her a million questions. The two biggest ones being, “Who did this to you?” and “Where can I find them so I can fucking kill them?”
Or if no one did this to her then the question becomes, “What can I do to make you stop crying?” Because in this moment, that’s all I want to do.
She sits up, using the back of her hand to wipe away the stray tears. “Thank you.”
“You never need to thank me,” I say. “Are you okay?”
She nods, though I don’t know how genuine it is. “I will be.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
I can feel her body still against me. At first, I don’t think she’s going to say anything. Then she slowly moves out of my hold to turn and face me. “I had a date.”
My body stills, but I push it down. She needs a friend. She’s upset. I remind myself to not get pissy because she agreed to a date with a guy who wasn’t me.
Even though I’ve asked out her once a week since January…
“Did he have bad breath? Nasty cologne? Oh! Wait! He wore an Ed Hardy shirt. All of those would make me cry.”
This makes her laugh. “I wish. Turns out he had a girlfriend.”
I jump off the step, ready to hunt this guy down. “Who is he?”
Charlie pulls me back to the step. “Easy, tiger.”
“Don’t easy tiger me, Bug. Who the fuck is he and where can I find him?”
Charlie grabs my hand in hers, and for that brief moment in time, I forget about the fuck face who made her cry. Because this is the first time I’ve held Charlie’s hand. And I know it’s not much, but to me right now, it’s everything.
“He’s a guy I have a few classes with. Seemed nice. Turns out his girlfriend cheated on him, and instead of breaking up, she gave him a free pass.”
My eyes double in size. “A free pass?”
“Yup,” she says with a shrug. “That’s me. I’m the free pass.”
“How…what…huh?” My words trailing off because what the fuck?
“How did I find out? His drunk friend. We went to meet them at a bar after dinner. I thought it would be fun. Except when he went to get us drinks, his friend—who apparently is pretty loose-lipped after a few Jagerbombs—asked me if I was the ‘chubby coffee shop girl.’ It only took a few more questions to figure out what he was doing.”
Rage. That’s all I feel. Pure, crisp, rage. Charlie must see it on my face because she gives my hand a squeeze.
“Easy. Nothing happened. If anything, I need to be thanking Jagerbomb Boy. Who knew being the chubby girl would come in handy?”
I don’t laugh at her attempt at a joke. Also I hate it when she calls herself that, because that’s not what I see when I look at her.
All I see is my Bug. My beautiful Bug.
“Oh, come on,” she says, now laughing. “That part was funny.”
I shake my head. “Nothing is funny about this. Five minutes ago you were crying. Now you’re trying to put on a brave face and crack jokes. Why? Don’t. You don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to. You’re amazing, and that jackass deserves to have his ass kicked.”
This makes her laugh again, but I can see the tears forming in her eyes. “It does suck, doesn’t it?”
I nod. “Yeah, it does.”
She lets her head fall into my shoulder, and we sit there for I don’t know how long. I wrap my arms around her as her tears start slowly coming again. I don’t pry for any more information, instead just being that shoulder she so clearly needs.
When the air starts to cool down, I move her head just enough for me to take off my hoodie and give it to her. She looks at it, confused, before back to me.
“You’re cold,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
“Just put it on, Bug,” I say, taking it back from her and holding it so she can slip her head into it. She shimmies it on, and it takes all I have to push down the feeling of satisfaction I get from seeing her in an item of my clothing.
“I hate that name.”
“No you don’t.”
She lets out a sigh as she gives in. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I did. I’m a gentleman.”
She tilts her head and gives me a look. “Really? Since when?”
I smile and put my arm back around her, bringing her head back down to my shoulder. “Since always, Bug. Since always.”
The telltale sound of a sob brings me back to the present, and my body goes on high alert. I walk around the side of the building and it’s déjà vu—only more than a decade later.
Charlie is sitting on what looks like a crate, hair hanging over her face, sobbing.
I start to walk toward her but stop myself.
She doesn’t want my comfort now.
She doesn’t want my words.
She doesn’t want any part of me.
She hates me.
Which I get, because in this moment, I hate myself.