Chapter 8 #2
“Well, um—” I’m flailing, my temperature rising. I search for the correct words to string together that won’t make me sound like a loser, but they never come because I fibbed about Lou. There’s no way to explain my joke now without looking like a jerk.
Butterflies cartwheel, tumbling in the painful churning in my stomach. I want to wrap myself tighter in my robe and run away, but with him inspecting me so closely, I can’t.
Reining in my emotions, I set my jaw to center myself.
I need to find the proper words, along with my determination.
I remind myself Evan doesn’t need to know everything.
I don’t owe him any explanations. I came here about my broken shower, but now that I’m here in his arms, I consider it might have been more than that.
I recall the photo of Aggie and Charlie from earlier tonight. She’s getting what she wants. Maybe I came here because I wanted Evan, or I wanted to be wanted by Evan. All I know is I want our kiss to continue. I don’t want to suppress what’s between us any longer.
I take a deep breath to shift my negative emotions to a clear goal.
I need to turn this moment in my favor. I’m a saleswoman.
I can do this. I dig deep for the person I am by day when I mask.
I’m an actress capable of making the people around me believe I’m composed and self-possessed, that I’m worthy. I lift my chin.
“I was thinking you might take my mind off things. No strings attached,” I say in hushed tones.
Following my instincts, I lean into Evan and wrap my arms around his neck. My fingers thread into his thick hair. Its softness twines around my fingers, and I massage his neck. My thighs are still snaked around his waist, so I squeeze them, silently urging him to relent.
Instead of moving in and kissing me again like I expect, he throws his head back in an entertained chuckle. For some reason, he’s beyond thrilled with this scenario.
I jerk away. The joyous sound that I loved earlier now zips through me like a lightning bolt of rejection.
“I just propositioned you, and your response is to laugh?” I’m confused. My heart rate accelerates. Before he answers, I’ve already decided I won’t like his reason.
He drags my arms off his shoulders until his hands are clasped with mine and settled squarely on my lap. He’s taking his time responding, and now I’m a rigid mess.
“Princess, you couldn’t handle a one-night stand. You’re not the type.”
When he says this with such firm conviction, I scoff at the nickname and his assessment. Shoving his hands away, I jump to my feet and tighten my robe, hiding any exposed skin. He laughs again as if my action drives home his point.
“How would you know?” My voice rises to a higher pitch than I’ve ever used with him.
He rises too. “Let’s see.” He pauses to pluck the reasons from the air. “First, you hid your bras and panties in your closet when I was in your apartment the other night, and at dinner, you stiffened like a ruler when I joked you were here to seduce me. Shall I go on?”
Has he been keeping score and tallying every awkward thing I’ve done? I’ve been trying to hide my insecurities from everyone, but he somehow sees right through me, and I don’t like it one bit.
“Shows what you know. Maybe that’s the reason I came down here!” I yell the lie. Or is it a lie? I never thought this night through, but I expect my anger makes a bit of the truth slip. Annoyed on both accounts, I stomp toward the door.
“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I promise one time with me and you won’t be able to walk away. I guarantee it.”
I open the door and stomp through. In the hall, I whirl to face him. My hands clench at my sides while he remains annoyingly calm.
“Well . . . um . . .” I stammer, unable to string together a coherent series of words, though many vulgar ones race through my mind.
He conceals another smile by glancing at the floor. His jaw sets before he says, “And before you get any ideas, I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”
My eyes widen and my mouth falls slack. He nudges the door closed until it softly clicks shut, and I’m left staring at a gold plate stamped with his apartment number.
Muscles that were already tight twist with an ache.
Inside my mind, I scream. If I were a cartoon character, steam would shoot in little atomic clouds from my ears.
From the other side of the door, he says, “Good night, Cat.”
“Arrogant ass!” I yell, needing the last word.
When he chuckles from inside, it pisses me off even more.
A mental replay of that sound follows me up the one hundred steps to my apartment.
Once I’m safe behind my front door, the sharp stab of rejection consumes me.
I’m a grade-A idiot. Not for kissing Evan, but because he outright turned me down.
How would he know if I have the guts to follow through with a hookup and walk away?
I collapse on my bed, my arms and legs spread eagle, my face buried in my feather pillow.
The depression and crying, the working late nights, coupled with the alcohol I drank tonight and the avalanche of rejection and embarrassment from Evan—all of it hits me at once.
Self-recrimination swirls in a hot mess, leaving me raw inside.
I curl into a ball and hide my head beneath a pillow to regulate. Rational thinking returns in slow, painful injections of truth until my internal storm settles in its usual spot. The dark place reminds me . . . you’re better off alone.