Page 32 of Getting Over You

“If history proves anything,” she says, “that’s the truth. Belinda didn’t want the burden of parenting me, Marcus didn’t want the burden of committing to me, and Bar Guy wasn’t interested in getting to know anything about me before seeing me without my clothes, and then he decided he didn’t even want me for that. I thought I was fine with it. But I want to know things about people and have them know things about me before I hook up with them. I can’t do the totally emotionless sex thing.”

“Most people—most girls—can’t,” I tell her. “It’s not a big deal.”

“How do you do it?” she asks. “Just have sex and then leave the next day and never see the girl again that you connected with on such a deep level?”

“I don’t connect,” I say. “I try my damnedest not to.”

Gigi’s eyebrows pinch. “Why? Is it because you don’t feel like you can love someone, Cade?”

My chest tightens. “Why do you say my name so much?” I ask.

“Why do you deflect and ask a question when you don’t want to talk about something?”

She’s got me. This girl is something else. Like a bright red heart tattoo with a girl’s name on it in a sea of smooth black and white. She’s the obnoxious red heart that you wish you would’ve done in black ink instead of red, so colorful and loud, and then later wish you could get it removed.

“Can you tattoo a heart on yourself?” she asks. “You need one right here.” She jabs a finger into my left chest. “Right where your heart would be if you had one. Along with every other man who doesn’t want to connect with somebody. I’m great, Cade! I deserve to be connected with.”

“I agree,” I say. “About you being great and deserving of connection, if that’s what you’re after. And I have a heart.”

“You don’t use it,” she snaps. “If you did, we’d be in an immensely different situation right at this exact moment.” I know she’s intoxicated. But her saying that makes my chest feel like it’s going to fall in on itself, my insides toppling like a Jenga tower. “I thought the tattoos were a deal breaker.”

She waves a hand at me, dismissive. “They are. For a fling. The deal breaker for anything else with you is that you refuse to commit to anybody. You’d break my heart just like the rest of them.”

Which is exactly why we can’t be in a relationship, Gigi and me. She needs things from a partner that she doesn’t need from me as a friend, a wingman. Hell, she needs things from a boyfriend that I am incapable of providing. I’m happy to stay in the role of least stress. I can’t do boyfriendly duties, and I have no interest in starting now.

“Let’s go get you that ice cream,” I say. “You still want ice cream?”

She sniffles, dabbing at the puffiness under her eyes. “You’re deflecting again.”

“Do you want the ice cream or not?”

“You promised me ice cream,” Gigi says. “Of course, I want it.”

Chapter eleven

Ispend most of Saturday doing damage control with Cade at Beach Brew—trying to figure out exactly what I said, how I said it, and how much I embarrassed myself.

I will never go to a bar for a hookup ever again. I’m done trying to hook up altogether.

“So, the worst of it,” I say, “was crying over Belinda?”

“Mostly,” he says. “Crying about how she doesn’t want you, how nobody does. Which is a lie.”

I remember being in his truck. Though it’s blurry, I remember the feeling in my chest when Cade said he wanted me. The way my heart was beating so hard, so fast, with so much force, I was certain it would pop out of my chest like a cartoon.

I know he meant he wanted me for sex. But for him to say those words, look at me with that dark and stormy gaze, and sayhewantedme.

Thinking about those eyes smoldering over me for the rest of the summer can’t be worth any pain that might follow it.

“I’m thankful I didn’t sleep with that guy,” I admit. “I know there’s better out there.”

The storm clouds in Cade’s eyes twinkle. “That’s my girl. Get back out there.”

My heart does that thing again, feeling like cymbals slamming against the walls of my chest. “I don’t mean you.”

“Oh, I know. Haven’t you made that abundantly clear?” He takes a sip from his coffee. “I’m just happy to see you realize your worth again, princess.”

“Stop it,” I say.

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