Chapter 21 Infected
It’s been three weeks.
I’m still thinking about the stupid fucking heart emoticon.
He’s a virus. This man is in my dreams. He’s in the subtext of my articles, and he’s wormed his way into all my relationship-related thoughts. He’s lingering like a hacking cough after a cold.
I absentmindedly doodled him a stupid apology card last Thursday after I finished my Etsy batch.
Sorry if that heart was genuine.
I thought I was getting conned again.
I hope you don’t feel ghosted.
That would suck the most-ed.
I can’t stop thinking about your stupid face.
Fuck you.
I haven’t been on a date since we made the pact.
I haven’t even been able to bring myself to open Hinge.
I’m fucked.
I feel ghosted, but I’m the one who made the rule not to text. I’m the one who didn’t respond to the heart emoticon. I cut him off.
I blame Jordyn. And Whitney.
I knew I shouldn’t have seen him again. I could feel it in my bones. The man’s a Rikki magnet. And now here I am, almost a month later, clinging to whatever the hell it is we are for dear life, like Mufasa dangling over the edge of that goddamn cliff.
“I really loved that too! She’s such a badass!” Babe’s voice yanks me from my thoughts.
I blink, guilt gathering in my gut as I try to catch the thread of the discussion.
Babe’s excitedly gushing about Queen of Shadows from her spot across the coffee table in a new witchy black dress and blood-red riding cape that matches mine, clutching a hardcover copy against her chest. My own copy is in a little cauldron at the center of our circle.
The WWU has convened this week on a Wednesday evening because Jordyn was pregnancy-ill on Sunday.
I have no idea what the group is talking about.
I loved the book, but my life has been slowly slipping off its axis, and I’ve been finding it increasingly hard to concentrate.
Dealing with my father’s random drop-ins, the creepy journal, and perpetually pining over Reed, on top of juggling the podcast, writing Love Today, planning my mom’s wedding, counseling Whitney and Glenn, and running the Etsy shop is taking a hefty mental toll.
My brain’s melting, and I’m not quite sure what the best course of action to remedy the situation is.
Micah, Jordyn, and I have a couch chat scheduled after book club.
It’s time for me to get their thoughts on my growing list of woes.
I haven’t wanted to burden them with my nonsense because they’ve been overloaded as well.
They’ve thrown themselves into nesting. They’ve been going to birth-prep classes during the week.
Jordyn’s been enduring a few excruciating weeks of morning sickness.
Micah’s prepping for a big case where he’ll be traveling back and forth from Texas in the weeks ahead.
Shit, I stopped listening again. I tune back into the conversation. We should be wrapping up about now, but Jordyn and Babe are bickering about love interests.
“But I’m so happy for Rowan!” Babe gushes.
“He can’t be endgame. It has to be Celorian.”
“Rikki, you’re so quiet. Who do you ship as endgame?” Babe prods.
I blink at her. “I guess I’m shipping Manon and Do—”
We all tense as a phone dings. Our quietest member, Adrienne, sighs.
“Who didn’t put their phone on silent?” Jordyn scolds.
The sound came from my cape pocket. “Sorry!” Shame paints my cheeks as I reach down and pull it out. I glance at the notification as I switch the phone to silent. An email.
Before I can think better of it, I swipe down and audibly gasp.
“What’s wrong?” Jordyn asks.
My heart rages against my chest. I tear my eyes from the screen. Shit. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Jordyn repeats dryly.
Babe sits back in her chair. “Rikki, you gasped. We can see your face. It’s not nothing.”
“Just an email,” I say too quickly as the beat of my elevated pulse fills my ears. I glance at my watch. “It’s nine, y’all. I think it’s time to wrap this up.”
Adrienne picks her bag up from the floor.
Jordyn’s brow arches. “Is it from him?”
“Him? Him who?” Babe asks.
The last thing I need is Babe reporting back to Willem, who could report back to Reed that I’m having a mild giddy meltdown over his possibly completely benign-nothing email.
“No one. It’s fine. Thank you for coming. This was lovely. I’m actually having a stomach thing happening at the moment, so I’m going to run to the bathroom. I ship Manorian, and I’ll see you all in two weeks for the first half of Kingdom of Ash.”
I rise from the circle and swish toward the bathroom. My cape gets caught in the door as I lock myself in. I’m full-on sweating as I struggle to yank it out and fail. I have to reopen the door, tug it in, and lock it again.
I drop the phone as I try to bring it to my face. It clatters against the white tile.
Jesus Christ. Stop freaking out.
I plop onto the ceramic edge of my shower-tub combo. Pick up the phone, exhale a slow breath, counting to five, and tap open the email.
—
re: RE: RE: Subject: Been feeling inspired. Had some fun.
Reed Tyler August 27
Link
—
I tap the link.
Tyler-Romona | Message in a bottle
Chapter 3 | Pact
Derek
I miss her. I don’t remember the last time I legitimately missed someone. Let alone someone I’ve known for a week.
A week?
I suck in another counted breath, concentrating on slowing my heart rate, and exhale, realizing belatedly that he’s picking up the story where I left off: post sex chapter. It ended with Renee and Derek in bed. Derek was about to leave for his flight and Renee asked what now?
Sounds like Fiction Reed left their sex-capade with no plan.
That was the best first date I’ve ever had. Not just because it ended in the most fateful, erotic night of my life. But because I liked her.
[Rikki Romona: Single, past society-allotted prime, found dead in bathroom upon reading that man with whom she has only been on two dates called their fictional sex-capade the most fateful erotic night of his life. Wearing witch costume for no apparent reason.]
But because I liked her.
A lot. I liked the way she smiled. Constantly.
She tried to hide it, but it just traveled to other areas of her face.
Her stormy gray eyes sparkled with it. I like how she talked.
How delightfully honest she was about the deepest shit humans deal with on the daily.
I love her insightful questions. I love how me I felt like I could be in her presence.
Renee’s a bulldog in a princess dress.
I don’t think I’ve ever had that thought before about a human being. Let alone a gorgeous one. It’s the most endearing quality I’ve ever had the honor to stumble across. I want to be in her orbit.
So the question now is—how the hell do I keep her in my life?
We parted ways the morning after the wedding. I woke up that day feeling like I was in a movie, and I was finally playing the main character.
The fall back into reality was devastating. She lives three thousand miles away.
I used to be the Hopeless Romantic Guy. The one who believed love could conquer any obstacle. The dude who would do anything for the person they were dating.
That guy was naive. The girl he was in love with back in high school took that worldview, held it in her palm, and crushed it with her delicate manicured fingertips.
He was proceeded by Sad Emo Breakup Guy, from which I eventually graduated to Commitment Issue Asshole Academy. I’ve been that guy for nine years.
I date casually. And I let go.
It’s never bothered me. I never feel connected enough for it to bother me. I hold people at arm’s length, and they let me. I’ve mastered the art of getting through a date without sharing a single shred of information about my own life.
I had my arms out that night at the wedding, but Renee shoved them out of her way. Cuffed them behind my back. Exposed my chest. Without even trying.
My god, it was (forgive my crudeness) hot.
It’s been six days since we woke up in that bed together. I’m afraid to text her. She already has such a foothold on my mental state.
If I reach out, and she doesn’t answer, I’ll feel like shit.
If I reach out and say something wild that she doesn’t reciprocate, I’ll feel like shit.
If I reach out and we end up doing something stupid like long-distance dating and whatever’s left of my broken duct-taped heart shatters into slivers too small for even the most meticulous therapist to puzzle back together, I’ll feel like a steaming pile of shit.
It’s at this precise moment of angst that my iPhone lights with a text.
Renee: Free tomorrow for a second date? 9pm Barney’s in Studio City at the bar. Eat beforehand. Wear clothes.
Someone knocks on the bathroom door, and I startle, dropping the phone.
“Rikki?” Jordyn asks.
“Yeah, I’m so sorry. Can you give me ten minutes?”
“Is it from him?”
“Is everyone gone?”
“Yes.”
“. . . Yes.”
She claps her hands on the other side of the wood. “Okay, Micah’s waiting in our living room with tea on the stove for our chat, so come over when you’re done.”
“Thank you.” I listen as her footsteps retreat, and pick up the phone again.
Chills skitter through my nervous system as the chapter moves into our second date through Reed’s eyes.
It’s so earnest and incredibly funny to hear his inner monologue as compared with my own.
He’s so confident. And complimentary. And occasionally nervous around Renee, and it’s the most endearing shit I’ve ever read.
Ten minutes later I come to the final page of the doc.
I don’t know exactly when I’ll see her again, and it’s messing me up. I spent two hours at the gym today rather than my usual one, trying to burn up the ravine of anxiety in my chest.
How do people deal with this . . . yearning? What is she doing right now? I want to talk to her. Learn more about her. See her. Touch her again. Take her to all the best places in LA.
Looking down the barrel of forty-five days feels like a lifetime.