Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
PAIGE
NOW
“Dressing him up for his date was supposed to be hilarious, Skye. Fuck.”
He’s supposed to look like he went too far. Too eager. Too ridiculous.
When I handed over the blinding neon clothes, it was a test. If he really wanted to prove he was sorry, to prove that he was capable of making himself vulnerable by embarrassing himself, then he would wear it.
I mean, he doesn’t look embarrassed—no, his expressions have always been too contained for something as simple as a blush—but everyone is looking at him.
Why wouldn’t they? He’s wearing a tank top and a fanny pack.
But also? He’s freaking gorgeous. Who the hell looks good in fluorescent green? This isn’t fair.
“He can’t look that hot,” Skye says.
I shift my phone to my other ear so I can wipe off the sweat on my brow. The midday sun is crowding me from above, like it’s trying to slap some sense into me. As if I don’t already know that this has backfired.
“I thought the shorts you bought him were tiny?” she asks.
Oh God, the shorts.
“They’re the worst part!” I groan. “I must have forgotten. He has an ass, Skye. An ass.”
“Everyone has an ass.”
Not like this they don’t.
“This is the ass they model asses on.”
A sinkhole must be opening up in the ocean somewhere, like some sort of seismic balancing. This shouldn’t physically be possible. As in physics should dictate that no one can be fuckable in neon.
And yet … Benji.
“This is the first I’m hearing about it.”
Great. Next thing you know, she’s going to ask me to—
“Is there a reason why you haven’t sent me a photo yet?”
“Why do you assume I’ve even taken one?” I say, sending her three I already had lined up.
Her gasp is dramatic, but understandable. “Fuck me. Those shorts are, like, painted on.”
“I know,” I whine.
Across the street, seemingly unaware of my current meltdown, Benji leans against the wall of the gallery, nodding whenever someone passes by with a comment but otherwise looking calm and cool.
Meanwhile, I can feel how damp my armpits are, and I think if I wave off the server at this café one more time, they’re going to forcibly remove me.
“What am I going to do?”
“Maybe his date will hate hot guys?”
“Yeah, and maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow with a million dollars in my bank account.”
“Which you will then immediately share with me.”
I push away my empty cup. “Obviously.”
“At least hot-man butt hasn’t completely scrambled your senses yet. What’s happening now? Is she there yet?”
“No, and she’s late.” Fifteen minutes late, and in another ten, they’ll start the session.
Carla struck me as someone who was punctual. She was so … put together. Nothing like me, with my beat-up Converse and decade-old Levi’s that are one winter away from some fashionable inner thigh holes.
“What if she doesn’t show?”
“Oh my God, can you imagine getting stood up in a fanny pack?” Skye squeals.
And a little part of me—the part that he smashed to pieces when he left—laughs with her. This is good, right? Humiliating, like I wanted, because he hurt me.
So, why do I feel fucking awful?
When I told him the plan, I expected him to hate it, but all he said was, “Great. Love it,” and asked what time he needed to be here.
Five more minutes pass, and I know—I just know—Carla isn’t coming.
“What the hell do I do?”
“What do you mean?” Skye asks. “Leave him there. He deserves it.”
Maybe I should. This is what I wanted, right?
It just doesn’t make any sense. This is Benji.
He’s hot and creative, he owns his own business, he loves his family …
I mean, yeah, sure, he’s hotheaded and stubborn, and he hates talking about himself or admitting his feelings and will leave you crying in a parking lot before he runs off without even a follow-up text, but Carla doesn’t know that.
Sliding down into the chair, I rest my head on the table and groan. “I don’t know that I can do this.”
Skye sighs like she’s rubbing her hand on my back. “God, you’re so nice. This is how I know I’m never making it to heaven when I die.”
I pout a little more, the way I did when we were kids and I needed her to please not make me feel bad about being a sap.
“Fine,” she says. “Go save the cretin.”