20. Chapter 20
Beth
T hey were going to start recognizing me at Hank’s Diner at this rate, but I didn’t care.
I cradled the container holding a piece of cherry pie in my hand when I reached to knock on Carter’s door.
I had a sweet tooth, but the excitement bubbling inside me was more about seeing him.
When the lock clicked and the door opened, I grinned, holding out the piece of pie for a second before my excitement was replaced with disappointment.
“Oh. Hey, Benny,” I said when he looked at me and then the pie. “Is Carter here?”
“No. I actually haven’t seen much of him today.” Benny crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame and making it clear that he wasn’t going to be letting me into the apartment. “I think he said something about having a date.”
A date? My stomach sank under the weight of his stare. “Do you know when he’ll be home?” I tried peering over his shoulder like it would make Carter appear.
Benny shook his head. “I’m not really sure, sorry.”
“Well, thank you anyway. If you see him, will you tell him I stopped by?” I looked at the pie in my hand, debating leaving it for him. Would Benny give it to him for me if I did?
“Sure will,” he said. Then I turned around but when I took the first step to leave, Benny cleared his throat. “He’s not really that into you, you know.”
My feet stopped but my heart slammed into my chest. I turned around. “What?”
“It’s all just part of his game to get you in bed.” He smirked, and my stomach soured. Where I had held confidence knocking on his door, there was now self-doubt. “Did it work?”
My eyes stung, and I shook my head. “It’s not like that.”
“It is, though.” He looked serious, like I shouldn’t doubt what he was saying.
I didn’t trust Benny, though, not like I trusted Carter.
I shook my head again, refusing to believe it and stepping back.
“He does this to all the girls, Beth. He makes you think you matter. Maybe he takes you on a couple of dates and makes you feel special. Then he gets what he wants and once he does, he moves on to the next.”
I didn’t believe it. I was determined to believe that it was different between Carter and me—that he really liked me. “Maybe with other girls. It’s not like that with me.”
“If you say so.” Why should I believe what Benny had to say anyway? He didn’t know anything. “I’ll bet he made you a mixtape and took you out to his secret spot too.”
“That’s not true.” Right? I haven’t really brought anyone here before.
“I’m sorry, Beth.” His sympathy looked genuine, like he was actually sorry. Like there was something for him to be sorry for. “I don’t claim to be a good guy, but he and I? We’re cut from the same cloth.”
My eyes watered, and tears welled against my bottom eyelid. “Why would he do that? Why should I believe you?”
“Because I have no reason to lie to you about it. I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you.
But you shouldn’t trust Carter either.” He put his hand on my arm, and I yanked it away, shaking my head and turning to leave as quickly as I could manage without tripping over myself. “Just be careful.”
The tears that were stinging my eyes started to roll down my cheeks, and I turned around. My legs were no longer frozen in place—it was like they couldn’t carry me out of there fast enough. Benny’s voice in the back of my mind taunted me.
He’s not really that into you, you know.
Suddenly, the pie I carried felt like the last crumbs of what could have been. I threw it into the trashcan on my way out of his apartment building, ignoring the concerned stares from people walking the other direction. Carter said he liked me—he seemed like he liked me as much as I liked him.
I was glad my room was empty when I got there.
My friends would have seen my tear-soaked shirt and hit me with a marathon of questions I didn’t know how to answer.
The tape I had been listening to on repeat was sitting on my dresser when I walked in, and my throat tightened. I’ll bet he made you a mixtape.
“How could I have been so stupid?” I dropped onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow and letting the sob I held wrack through my body.
When the door opened, Isabella gasped. “Beth, what’s wrong?” She sat on the edge of my bed. “Talk to me.”
I looked up at her, sure that my mascara was rolling down my cheeks. It had left stains on my pillows that could only match the distress on my face. Then another sob wracked through my body, and the words scraped their way past my throat. “It was all a lie.”