Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“It’s not nothing!” I shoot up off the couch. “Ugh! I should have listened to my gut that day. I accused you of planning everything that night and then let the subject drop. You avoided the question, and I let you, so who’s the idiot here? Me.” I stick a finger in my chest, wound up tight.
“Whoa. Just calm do—”
“Don’t you ‘whoa’ me, mister. Your mother literally said, and I quote, ‘We knew being seen with you there would be good for his reputation after those pictures of you at the wedding surfaced on the internets and the Twitter.’ Those aren’t words a woman forgets, Tripp. Those are words that hurt and they’re going to be burned in my brain forever.”
“I did not come over here to fight,” he responds, bulky arms still crossed.
“Why did you come over here, then?” I’m about to make it worse and worse, in no mood to back down, no stopping the train now that it’s in motion.
“I wanted to see you—why the hell do you think I dragged my ass here after busting it for the past three hours? To amuse myself when I could be sleeping? I’m fucking tired, Chandler. I don’t want to argue about this.”
Too bad. Too late.
I’m pissed.
“You’re not even going to defend yourself?” I challenge, getting up in his personal space.
“Against what? What would be the point? You already have your mind made up.”
Oh. So he’s one of those.
The kind of guy who runs when the pressure is on, who clams up when it’s suddenly time to get serious. The kind of guy who doesn’t want to discuss anything.
Great.
Just great.
Good to know.
“My mind isn’t already made up. I want to know what you have to say about it.”
“Honestly, I have no idea why you’re mad. You brought it up that day in front of your townhouse after leaving The Ivy, then you let it go so I figured you weren’t bothered by it. I thought we were having fun.”
Fun.
Fun?
The word triggers me further and I feel myself spiraling out of control, completely irrational but in full force.
“Oh. Now I’m just fun to you.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He squints at me.
I take a deep breath. Then another, then another.
Calm. Rational. Do not be that girl.
“Listen, Tripp. Yes, perhaps I’m overreacting—but you have to admit that you should have told me the truth when you had the chance. I want to be able to trust you.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I didn’t say I don’t trust you—I said I want to be able to trust you. Lying out of the gate isn’t a great way to start, and I was…I felt…betrayed when your mom spilled the beans tonight. Really embarrassed. I thought we were on the right track.”
“We are.” His jaw clenches.
“Is that all you have to say? Is there more?”
“I don’t know what else you want.”
“Is your ego so huge you can’t tell me how you feel about me? You can’t tell me the reason you lied? Or why you kept calling me and messaging me?”
“If it’s not obvious, then I can’t help you with that.”
Wow.
I’ve heard of men this headstrong and prideful; I just never thought I’d be on the receiving end of the insolence.
He is not going to tell me he cares; I can see it in his eyes, and I’m no good at prying information out of people.
I want someone who can express themselves. He doesn’t have to write me a freaking love poem, but he can at least tell me he cares.
“Well this night fucking sucked.” Tripp bends to grab his shoes, stepping into each one as he yanks his jacket off the hook.
“I’m…” sorry. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I stop myself. I have nothing to apologize for except waiting too long to bring the subject back up. Nothing to apologize for except a bit of theatrics.
“You’re…?”
“Sorry you lost tonight.” My voice is nearly a whisper.
He stares at me long and hard. “In more ways than one, I guess.”
And then he’s gone.
Twenty-Two
Tripp
I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that Chandler thinks I don’t give a shit about her or the fact that she thinks I lied.
Neither is the truth.
Sure, omission could be considered lying, but in my defense, she let the subject go after our date at The Ivy, so what would have been the point in me following up to tell her the entire thing was in fact a publicity stunt? At that point in the evening, I’d forgotten I was there for a purpose and was enjoying myself, despite the sometimes tense and awkward conversation. What good would have come from completely ruining it?
So I kept my mouth shut when she didn’t push the issue, never imagining it would come up again.
Boy was I fucking wrong.
“Is your ego so huge you can’t tell me how you feel about me?”