Evie （Chapter）
Evie
It’s over. Technically, there was nothing between us to begin with, and I knew that. But I was still naive enough to give him everything in the hopes that he might eventually come around to the idea of us.
I’m an idiot.
I should have heeded his warning about complicating our .
. . friendship. That’s all Brandon ever wanted from me—friendship.
He made that crystal clear from the beginning.
And while he might have been a trusted friend, he’s also a man, so he wasn’t exactly going to turn me down when I offered him my body on a silver platter, too, now was he?
I could scream.
I still can’t believe we went all the way.
And not just that, but the experience was .
. . perfect. He was a complete gentleman the entire time.
Well, as much of a gentleman as one can be while doing the hanky-panky.
He consistently checked in with me, whispered the sweetest nothings, his voice viscous and reverent like warm honey, warming me from within as his lies caressed my skin.
He told me he loved me. Said it like no truer words had ever been spoken.
And I believed him.
I’m trying to unbelieve it, but that’s like trying to untangle a million knotted necklaces. An impossible task.
I was confident we were making love. I was as sure of that as I am that the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening, east to west, burning up everything in its path. Under Brandon, I felt safe. Loved. Adored.
For him? It was nothing more than a lust-induced rendezvous. Devoid of any genuine meaning.
But he told me he loved me.
How could he do it? How could it mean so much to me but so little to him? It doesn’t make sense.
When it was over, the spell I was under lifted like the morning fog.
I woke up to a warm, sunny room in a cold, empty bed.
After getting dressed, I found him downstairs drinking coffee in silence at his kitchen island.
Foolishly, I was expecting him to be making breakfast in his boxers, smiling and dancing like I was the best sex he’d ever had.
But there was no music, no inviting aroma of eggs or bacon, no laughter or smiles. Just stone-cold silence and the trickle of coffee into the pot . . .
Suddenly, I felt shy. Unsure. So unlike the night before—when I was confident that he wanted me. I wasn’t sure how to act around him anymore.
He nipped that in the bud right away.
“You’re finally up,” he said, discarding his coffee mug in the sink. There was no hint of teasing or affection in his voice, and at once, the reality of the situation settled over me like ash. When he smiled at me, it didn’t reach his eyes.
Instantly, I felt small. Used.
Propping his hip against the counter, he crossed his arms, gazing at me wordlessly. Coldly. Finally, after a few tense, silent moments, he assured me that last night was “fun,” but that it couldn’t happen again—that it was a “one-time thing,” and we couldn’t see each other anymore.
His tone said something else, though. It said he didn’t want to see me anymore.
My heart was on fire, raging like a furnace, although my skin felt cold. Clammy.
Fun. He was my first, my only, and I was fun.
To save face, I insisted that I already knew all of that—that I wasn’t a complete and total idiot.
He only sighed. To distract myself from the throbbing ache in my chest, I moved to the coffee maker and poured myself a cup, not bothering to look for milk or sugar.
I chugged the drink black. It was bitter and burned going down.
When I found the courage to look at him again, his brow was arched, and his expression was so unfeeling that I wanted to scream.
There was zero affection in his eyes. No desire.
No real interest of any kind. Instead, he was observing me with cold, clinical concern, like he could sense I might fall apart at any second.
He was right.
Somehow, I forced a small laugh, but it sounded as hollow as I felt.
Hopefully he didn’t notice. It felt like it might break me to pretend to laugh the situation off—as if he hadn’t just broken my heart then stomped on it for good measure.
“Look, I know what you’re like, Brandon,” I said.
“I went into that situation with my eyes wide open.” Lie. Lie, lie, lie. I was so blind . . .
His chin jerked back. “Oh? And what am I like?”
I smoothed a hand down my cheesy Christmas sweater, ignoring the bite in his tone. I told him what everyone knows—that he’s a womanizer. But who could blame him? I gestured up and down, intentionally objectifying him to hurt him.
Except the truth of my own words hit me like a truck, knocking me off my feet. I hit the ground with a bone-crushing smack. I still can’t believe I had sex with him, knowing his history. It’s just that I never, ever would have thought I would become one of his . . . conquests.
“You think that’s what happened?” he growled, his voice strained like he was choking on the words. “That you were just another one-night stand for me?”
“You said we can’t see each other anymore,” I reminded him. “Sounds like a one-night stand to me.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Didn’t even try to defend himself.
It didn’t matter anyway. There was nothing he could have said that would have justified the disinterested look in his eyes.
The desire he had for me before we’d fallen into bed was nowhere to be found—like it never even existed.
Poof. Gone. He’d gotten what he wanted, and he just wanted me to scram afterward.
He probably hadn’t even wanted me to stay the night.
The thought makes me sick with regret. Never in my life would I have expected Brandon to treat me that way.
I respected him. Looked up to him. Loved him.
But I was a fling. A blip on the radar.
A one-night stand.
The hearts in my eyes had disappeared, and the blinders were removed. In light of everything, I could finally see him for what he was. What he had always been, and what he will always be.
A womanizer.
“Evie . . .” he said. His voice was low and thick with pity and regret.
That was the moment I realized he’d broken my heart.
It was also the moment I started to hate him.
I smiled, forcing humor into my eyes. “Hey, we both know what that was, okay? That’s all I’m saying. I’ll be out of your hair in no time, okay?” Luckily for him, I wanted to leave so I could lick my wounds in private—and bury the memory under the avalanche of space and time.
He stepped toward me, but I was beginning to unravel.
Bracing myself, I faced him and propped my hands on his shoulders. He placed his hands on top of mine, his expression guarded. He was obviously concerned about me, but . . . that wasn’t enough. It didn’t make up for anything.
“Look,” I began. “That was fun, okay? And that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To have fun—no strings attached?” His mouth opened like he wanted to protest, but then it closed again. “So mission accomplished. I’m okay with pretending this never happened if you are.”
He hesitated, but eventually agreed that that was probably for the best. When he glanced at the door, I took that as my cue to leave.
I sat down on the bench to slip my boots on, trying to hold in the full-body tremors I could feel building deep inside of me.
My lower lip trembled as I struggled to hold it together, but I fought the tide of emotion by biting it hard enough to draw blood.
As if he knew how I was feeling, Brandon apologized quietly. It almost sounded like he meant it, too.
The last thing I wanted was his pity, though.
Ignoring him, I stood and offered him a tight smile as I reached for the door. “Call me if you need help with Teddy,” I said, feeling like a wounded animal retreating with its tail tucked between its legs.
That was it. I zipped out of there, eager to get my first and last walk of shame over with. I practically ran down his driveway, trying to outrun the tears. Impulsively, I reached up and ripped the diamond necklace from my neck.
I hesitated for only a second before throwing it out onto the road.
I might as well have thrown my heart out there with it.