Page 8 of Wish You Would

I leave him in the kitchen and head back up the few stairs, grabbing a pair of shorts and tank top from my temporary closet before going to the bathroom. Talking about Justin made that old hurt return to my heart. I turn on the shower and step under the hot spray, taking slow, deep breaths until the pain subsides. I tell myself I’m fine.

Will this feeling ever go away? Every damn time I think about Justin it comes right back, strong as ever. The way he betrayed me. The way he humiliated me with the photos that were supposed to be for his eyes only.

I should have known better with a guy like him. I should have seen the warning signs; there were enough of them. For months, there was a voice in my head telling me something was off, but I ignored the red flags. I pretended we were good. God, I was good at pretending. Sometimes I swear I even believed the lies I told myself.

But never again will I allow myself to be used like that.

If Holden only knew the half of it, but he never will. I don’t need to relive that humiliation.

I allow the spray to wash over my face and my shoulders until I turn off the faucet, towel off and get changed. I quietly glance down the hall to make sure Holden isn’t in his bedroom. I stand outside his door, stiff and uncomfortable in the dark. Assuming he has already gone to bed on the couch in the living room, I nervously push open the door and pad into his room.

The first thing I see is his bed— it looks like a king size— with crisp white sheets and a dark gray bedspread. Not surprisingly, the room has no photos and very few personal items, but the window gives a nice view of the beach across the street. There’s a dresser with a TV mounted on the wall above it and two side tables with table lamps that he must have turned on for me. That was sweet of him, I think tomyself, doing my best to keep my racing heart in check. There’s something so personal about being in someone’s bedroom. I feel like I shouldn’t be in here, but I cross the room anyways and crawl into his bed.

And that’s when I notice the mug on the nightstand, filled with steaming hot water, a tea bag still steeping— peppermint tea.

I take the mug from the table and raise it to my lips, settling back into the plush pillows behind me.

Maybe Holden doesn’t completely hate having me here.

THREE

YOU GOOGLED ME, DIDN’T YOU?

Holden

I wake up and reach for my phone on the coffee table, groaning when I see the time. I’m up an hour before my alarm, with a sore shoulder and a kink in my neck from what I’m pretty sure was one of the worst sleeps of my life, on a couch that I’m too tall for in a room without blackout blinds. I unfold myself from the couch, shading my eyes against the sunlight that’s already pouring into the room, then fold the blanket and set it on top of my pillow. Walking quietly up the stairs, I pause outside of my closed bedroom door. Briar must still be sleeping.

I go to the guest bathroom for a shower, immediately noticing her things cluttering the countertop. This girl is messy.Verymessy. A hairbrush, her toothpaste, makeup, a curling iron, plus a collection of bottles and cannisters of all different sizes. What the hell does she even use all this stuff for? How many beauty products does one person need?

Shaking my head, I take off my clothes and then step under the scalding spray of water, hoping it will help wakeme up. I’m usually a morning person, but today my mood is as bad as the disaster all over my bathroom. I can’t stand clutter. My head hurts. Daisy is going to owe me big time for this.

I’m brushing my teeth when the smell of coffee wafts through the air. Briar? She must be up. I throw on my clothes and head downstairs, ready to tell her to clean up her crap.

I enter the kitchen, immediately regretting it.

My once-pristine countertops are buried under a chaotic spread of ingredients—flour dusted across the granite, a sticky puddle of batter near the stove, and an upturned carton of eggs teetering dangerously close to the edge of the counter. The smell of something sweet fills the air.

And there’s Briar, standing at the stove in one of my old T-shirts—because apparently, she has already decided my wardrobe is fair game— humming to herself as she flips pancakes.

I stand in the entryway and stare, my pulse racing so fast I wonder if it could cause a heart attack. Briar looks gorgeous. She isn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, and her hair is piled on top of her head in a knot showcasing the slope of her neck. She’s wearing a pair of shorts that leave little to the imagination. Probably dangerous if I stare much longer. She’s hot as fuck, the perfect example of the girl next door.

Too bad I’ve sworn off women.

Too bad I’m annoyed with her.

I tear my gaze away from her legs and instead look around my kitchen. It looks like a bomb went off. The mess in the bathroom is nothing compared to this. I chew on my lip to stop myself from snapping, feeling my lack of sleep and aching back. I should be grateful. Really, I should. She’sonly my temporary roommate, a favor to friends, and yet here she is, making me breakfast like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“Morning,” I manage to say, fighting my instinct to grab a cloth and start cleaning.

Briar turns, jumping like I startled her. Her green eyes are brighter than emeralds. She’s so pretty, I almost forget about the destruction she unleashed on my kitchen.

“Oh my gosh, you scared me,” she says, a pair of tongs in her hand. She smiles at me in a way that can only be described as magnetic. I can’t tear my eyes off her. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“I woke up early. I couldn’t sleep,” I say, then immediately feel bad when the happiness on her face fades. “Just a lot going on at the office this week. It’s not because of the couch,” I add quickly, not wanting her to feel guilty about taking my bed.

“Oh.” Briar turns her attention back to the stove. “Web design, right?”

I raise a brow. “You googled me, didn’t you?”

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