Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Wait. Are you being serious right now?”
“Yes?”
“For real—are you being serious?” I laugh it off, but he’s not smiling anymore. “Stop joking around.”
“Does that actually sound like something I would be kidding about? Yes, Lilly, tonight I thought maybe you were using me to get back at your ex-boyfriend or make him jealous.”
My mouth opens, floundering. My face flushes—not from embarrassment, but from a little bit of shame? Is that what this emotion is? I’m appalled.
Disappointed.
Confused. “I don’t understand how your mind would go there.”
He pulls a face. “All the elements were there, Lilly. You texting me to come save you, your ex-boyfriend cornering you, the kiss in front of him—you’re telling me that wasn’t part of some plan?”
Save me? “Excuse me? Who around here needs saving?”
“’Kay, that didn’t come out the way I meant it, but you get what I mean. You did text me and said to save you. What else am I supposed to think?”
“Um, no.” Indignation rises in my throat. “This whole night wasn’t a twisted plan to put my ex-boyfriend in his place, and I wasn’t using you. What kind of girl do you think I am?”
Roman shrugs—shrugs!—and I want to knock him off the edge of the bed by socking him with a pillow.
Throwing back the covers, I step onto the floor, rising. “That’s your opinion of me?”
My brain floats back to earlier in the evening when he asked if I was drunk. And sure, there might have been a bit of alcohol involved, but not enough to make me forget myself.
“No, that’s not my opinion of you.” His voice is calm and rational, unlike the turmoil I’m feeling inside my gut. “All I’m saying is, think about how the whole thing looked from my point of view. Are you considering how it might have made me feel?”
“Then what is your opinion of me?”
“I think…” He speaks slowly, clearing his throat before continuing. “You’re a girl who just broke up with her boyfriend. You’ve been hurt by him and didn’t want to deal with him tonight, so you called me.”
How is he sitting there so calmly when I have suddenly become a ball of nerves?
“Kyle and I dated for four months—that’s hardly enough time to be brokenhearted. All I need him to do is leave me alone.”
“Right. And you…” He clears his throat again. “Used me to make that happen.”
“I was not using you to get back at him or make him jealous or make him go away. I just wanted you there because it’s comfortable.” I throw my hands up, discouraged. “How did this conversation go from you asking if I’d play your fake girlfriend to you telling me you thought the whole thing tonight was a lark in an attempt to make my boyfriend jealous?” Oops. “I meant my ex-boyfriend.”
“I’m not trying to turn this into an argument, Lilly. I’m simply explaining to you what was going through my mind.”
I walk out of the room without responding, bypass Eliza and Jack’s bedroom—skip saying good night—and trudge barefoot down the stairs and through the kitchen to the side door.
Crappers, it’s raining outside and I’m not wearing any—
“Lilly, where are you going?”
“Home.”
Which is really too far away to walk to.
Shit, now what?
Where are my shoes? Near the front door.
I walk blindly to the foyer, mindful of Roman trailing along behind me.
“Lilly, be reasonable.”
“No. I’m not in the mood.” I’m hurt and confused and embarrassed, but that’s nothing new.
I step into my dumb shoes; they’re impractical wedges and look ridiculous with these pajama shorts and the sweatshirt I’ve got on. I should probably change, but my clothes are in Eliza’s bathroom, on her floor, and the last thing I want to do is go knocking and interrupt. Or explain myself.
The whole thing is so stupid and petty.
“At least let me drive you home.”
It’s not horribly late—not even bar closing time. “I’m fine.”
Fine: /fahne/ adverb
Definition: well or healthy, not sick or injured. In an excellent manner. Satisfactory; acceptable. Also see: women’s definition of absolutely not fine.
“Are you just saying that?”
Duh. Of course I’m just saying that. I don’t want him driving me home—and I also don’t want to walk home, but here I am being unreasonable, putting my shoes on at the door with no option to return unless I want to come across as being, well—unreasonable.
Which I am.
Dammit!
I should have never started the discussion in the first place, should have let him drift off to sleep, should have lay there in the dark and kept my mouth shut.
As I’m buckling the strap of my second shoe, he places his hand on my shoulder, the warm heat making its way to my heart.
“Lilly. Don’t leave.” His voice is quiet. “Stay. Let’s go back upstairs and talk about this. Neither of us meant anything by it.”
He’s not wrong, of course. The whole conversation got away from us; I wasn’t trying to use him earlier and he knows it, and I do want to go back upstairs where it’s warm and I can snuggle in his cozy bed.