Chapter Sixteen
Honor
Every week, Mila and I get together for breakfast and bitch about our lives over sugar and carb-packed meals.
Usually, it’s two hours of ranting about small inconveniences that really aren’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things.
Like how her spin instructor has it out for her, or that her girlfriend wants them to get a cat.
My complaints normally center around family dinner and how Gen Z slang words make me feel ancient.
Until today.
“Did someone die?” Mila asks, setting down a giant cinnamon roll between us with two forks. “You look like someone died. Is it anyone I know?” She gasps, almost dropping her coffee cup as she sits down. “Please tell me it isn’t Mrs. Daphne. I love her.”
Mrs. Daphne owns a small bookstore café called Chapters near the old condo I grew up in.
I spent a lot of time there when I didn’t want to be alone at home.
She never shooed me away or scolded me for reading the books without paying for them.
She’d even give me recommendations that she thought I’d like and leave food for me to make sure I ate something.
“Last I heard, she’s alive and well. Our discounts are still safe. ”
Mila lets out a relieved breath. “Good. I went to Barnes and Noble the other day and they wanted thirty dollars for a special edition of my favorite Ali Hazelwood book. You know, the one with pretty pink sprayed edges.”
I give her a skeptical look. “You’d pay at least twenty-five dollars for that at Mrs. Daphne’s store, though.”
“That’s still five dollars off and she gives me a free cookie,” my best friend counters indignantly. She sets her steaming drink down. “I also like to consider it supporting a small business.”
Any book shopping I do comes from Chapters for the same reason. “Nobody died,” I tell her, poking the bun with my fork. “But it’s bad.”
Her frown returns. “On a scale from Camp Rock 2: The Final Jam to your mom getting arrested for a DWI outside school pickup, how bad are we talking?”
That’s such a random and traumatizing range.
“That movie wasn’t horrible” is my response. “Shane and Mitchie finally kissed.”
Mila groans. “You’ve always been a sucker for romance. Which is ironic considering your newly single and not mingling. Just answer the question.”
“I guess in the middle?” I’m not even sure where my current problem lies.
Definitely not on the mortifying side next to watching my mother get handcuffed and put into the back of a police car in front of all my classmates.
Technically, she never actually got booked.
She’d flirted her way out of it until one of our neighbors could pick her up.
To my knowledge, my father never found out.
I’d like to think if he did, he probably wouldn’t have allowed me to stay with her anymore.
“So…?” Mila looks confused.
I frown deeply. “I slept with Bodhi.”
Her eyes widen so large that if it were anatomically possible, they’d fall out. “You fucked him? I take back the no mingling comment.”
That earns her a glare from the older couple sitting at the nearest table. I blush and duck my head, avoiding their unimpressed gazes.
“No,” I whisper hiss. “I mean I slept with him. Like, in the same bed. Beside him.”
She blinks slowly, gaping at me.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep during the movie, but I was tired, and the bed was comfortable. One second I’m watching Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga serenade one another on stage, and the next I’m waking up half pressed against a very muscular human being who’d also fallen asleep.
I’d been holding his pinky. My fingers were wrapped around his digit as if I was a child clinging to their parent in a packed grocery store. And I liked it. A lot.
The second I realized I was touching him I moved my hand away and studied how peacefully he slept in both awe and horror. Because I snore. And Max used to complain about how restless I was, or how hot I ran. I’d always been a little self-conscious of sharing a bed with him because of it.
“We were watching a movie,” I explain when the confusion doesn’t go away on Mila’s face. “I must have dozed off first. And I felt weird waking him up and telling him to go back to his room, so I didn’t.”
His alarm went off twenty minutes after I’d woken up, and he looked almost as confused as I was.
He’d had just enough time to go back to his room before anyone saw him leave mine, pack his things, and meet everyone out front.
I’d pretended to sleep on the return flight home, so we didn’t have to talk.
Now I’m here, two days later.
“So there was no sex,” Mila presses, as if the concept is foreign to her.
Maybe it is. She lost her virginity at fourteen, dated boys briefly throughout high school, and then decided she liked girls way more.
In college, she’d had a string of flings that were more casual than anything.
Her current relationship is the most serious one she’s had.
I peek at the older couple beside us to make sure they’re not eavesdropping or ready to complain to the waitstaff about us. “No. We didn’t do anything. Only slept. And maybe cuddled. If pinky holding counts as cuddling.”
She blinks slowly. “I don’t think so.”
I hated admitting I slept better than I have in a long time.
It was an adjustment to sleep by myself after leaving Max.
I’d gotten so used to having someone there that I spent a lot of nights battling insomnia when I was all alone.
Puck helped, a little. But there was always an ache left where a body used to lay beside me.
I told myself that was the only reason I’d drifted off to sleep so quickly when Bodhi was in bed with me.
Because it was familiar. Desirable.
Even if I drooled a little on the pillow or snored like I was auditioning for Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
My best friend looks thoroughly disappointed in the development. “That’s boring. Why exactly is this a bad thing?”
“Because—” I stop myself. Think about it. Then drop my shoulders. “Because I like him. Like really like him.”
Understanding slowly, and I mean slooowly, morphs over her face. “Oh. Okay. I’m with you now.” She mulls it over, rubbing her lips together. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest. Think you can do that?”
I stare at our breakfast. “I can try.”
“Who are you holding back for? If it’s Max, I’m going to smack you. If it’s because you’re afraid, I still might smack you.”
I peak up at her. “Why are you so violent today?”
She takes another sip of her coffee. “Because my spin instructor tried killing me this morning. I’m in a feisty mood.”
It doesn’t make sense, but I nod anyway.
“I still want an answer,” she informs me. “I want to know why you’re letting yourself believe that liking somebody is such a horrible thing.”
“It’s…” I close my eyes, trying to get her to understand. “It’s too soon. It’s too much. It’s—”
“It isn’t like you have to marry him, honey,” she tells me sympathetically, which only makes me groan louder.
“And that!” Her eyes widen as I gesture toward her. “He calls me ‘honey’ like I’m…like I’m…I don’t know. Something.”
Her expression brightens. “He gave you a pet name? That’s so cute.”
She isn’t seeing the problem with this. “Can you focus please? I’m having a slight panic attack over waking up in bed next to a guy I like—”
“Who called you honey,” she adds.
I glare. “Who called me honey,” I add, albeit begrudgingly. “And who makes me feel all fuzzy and warm and gooey and out of my element. It’s terrifying.”
The sympathy is back, but it’s lighter than before.
There’s an air of happiness in the way she smiles warmly.
“It just means you have a crush. Who wouldn’t if Bodhi-Freaking-Hoffman pays them the same amount of attention he does you?
I’m eighty-percent lesbian and I think my panties would flood if he gave me a pet name. ”
Our seat neighbors huff and stand to leave, glaring at Mila the entire time.
To which my best friend throws her hands up as they walk away, and says, “This is New York City, babes. Toughen up!”
I shake my head at her, thankful that the couple doesn’t turn around or say anything. The last thing I want is confrontation when I’m on the verge of a meltdown already.
Mila turns back to me. “It is not too soon for you to want something good for yourself, Honor. We’ve been through this already, and we will keep going through it until you understand that you deserve to be happy. Max does not get to dictate what that means for you.”
I know I’m allowed to move on and be with whoever I want to be. So why does there feel like a block in my way? “There’s a part of me that feels like wanting Bodhi is bad. He’s so different than Max.”
“They used to say eating raw cookie dough was bad for us, but we’re still alive. And you need someone who’s nothing like Max. Someone doesn’t need to rely on you for anything, and who wants to take care of you even though they know you can take care of yourself.”
“Max didn’t rely on me” is my pathetic answer, to which she rolls her eyes so dramatically I think she may see the inside of her head.
“We both know that’s a lie, H. But for the sake of this conversation, and my sanity, I’m not going to remind you of the reason why. Because then I’ll get madder than I already am at that asshat, track him down, and throat punch him Brooklyn style.”
I don’t know what that means, but I believe she’d do it.
“Back to the main convo. Everyone has a rebound period,” Mila adds, shrugging. “Maybe you need someone to dust off the cobwebs. If Bodhi is willing…”
Swallowing, I stare down at the cinnamon roll that I was craving when I got here. Now? Not so much. “Aren’t rebounds supposed to be with men at bars that you only see one time and never again?”
Mila’s grin stretches across half her face. “If we’re being technical, you did meet him at a bar.”