Page 87 of Just Forever

For the longest time, I feel his eyes on me, but I avoid looking at him. I’m too scared to ask what that’s about.

Disappointment, most likely.

For the next week,I’m banking on Scott giving up.

He doesn’t.

And day by day, I start to feel like an inactive volcano awakened from dormancy.

By now, I’m mostly pissed off instead of hurt, so when he, once again, calls me, I pick up, ready to tell him to fuck off.

Turns out it’s his assistant.

Which makes me even more pissed off.

An in-person fuck off suddenly sounds really enticing.

I schedule a meeting for tonight.

It’s only when I’ve put my phone away that I remember Ryk has a game. I debate calling back and rescheduling, but at the same time, I just really want to get it over with. It’s not like it’s going to take that long to tell Scott what an asshole he is. I’ll just be a bit late to the game.

It’ll be fine.

I havea long day at school, where I’m unable to concentrate properly, and by the time my last class lets out, there’s a headache throbbing at the base of my skull, and my enthusiasm levels are lower than ever.

I just want to go home, crawl under the covers with Ryk, and stay there for the foreseeable future. Shut the rest of the world out because it only causes problems.

But at the same time, I’m well aware that this Scott situation needs to be taken care of. The sooner the better. If I leave him hanging now, it very likely means I’ll have to meet him some other time, but if I handle it today, I’ll be rid of him for good.

That’s the push I need to drag my ass to the subway.

The bar Scott picked out is in some kind of hotel in the Upper East Side that looks pretentious as fuck. I take the place in for a bit and try to figure out if they’ll even let me inside in my jeans, winter boots, and jacket.

Then again, I don’t really care that much.

I draw some subtle looks in this sea of expensive suits and designer dresses, but nobody stops me either.

It doesn’t take me long to find Scott.

He’s sitting at a table, scrolling on his phone, but as if on cue, he lifts his head, gaze wandering over the bar, until his eyes land on me.

The look he sends me is impassive, and suddenly, a pang of dread unravels in my gut. I’m not sure why, but there’s something about this moment I don’t like.

Nevertheless, I grit my teeth and level my gaze at Scott before I square my shoulders and make my way to his table.

Scott brushes over his tie and pristine white shirt as he stands up.

“Thank you for showing up,” he says.

“Uh-huh,” I mutter. “There’s somewhere I need to be, so I don’t have much time.”

“It can wait,” he says, like it’s up to him to organize my schedule and determine what deserves my attention. “Sit down, sit down,” he says with a dismissive wave.

And, like a well-trained puppy, I do. I regret it at once, but getting up now would be even more pathetic.

“How about a drink?” he says, hand already in the air for the waitress.

“I’m good.”

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