Page 85 of Desserts for Stressed People

“It’s not. He’s...” I inspect the door. “He’s bringing her tomybed. My—mythingsare in there. That’smyhome!”

Shane leans closer, pressing both hands on the sides of my face. “Let’s go to my apartment. I’ll cook some lunch for you. We can keep reading, have another non-date.”

Maybe I should. I definitely don’t want to walk into my bedroom and see Alex deep in some other girl. The man who said he loved me, the same one who took me to Paris. The one who kept me up nights at a time with his dreams and ambitions, who asked me to move in together during a very romantic picnic at the beach. He’s bringing another woman to our apartment because last night I told him I’d be back in the afternoon and he doesn’t expect me for a few hours.

Shane’s hands are soft and firm on my face as he grazes his thumb along my cheek with a sad smile. He’s keeping me rooted, and it’s not the first time I’ve felt like this around him. If he goes, I’ll drown.

So I move closer. I lean in. I forget about everything I said. That I will not be a cheater, even if Alex is. That I don’t want my betraying boyfriend to taint what’s happening between Shane and me. I push my face forward so that my lips can meet his, making me feel better for a second.

But when my mouth is but a few inches away, his hands abandon my face and he shifts to the side, pulling me in a hug instead.

Chapter21

The Ultimate Fight

I’ve been rejected twicein my life.

The first time happened during my early teen years. During many of my walks with Emma up and down the city center, I always saw this one guy, older. Blond, tall, with a real attitude problem. But I was obsessed with him. At some point, Emma decided she was done hearing me blab about him and stopped him on the street to ask for his number because her friend was interested.

He looked at me and said, “No, thanks.” Harsh, but looking at it now, I would have done the same in his shoes.

The second rejection came from this guy I went to school with. I crushed over him for years and years until he told me his parents were moving, and I confessed my love. He said he only saw me as a friend, and he actually had a crush on Emma.

The point is, I’m not a stranger to rejection. But I don’t think either of them felt as bad as this one.

It takes me a moment to recover as Shane holds me tight against him. Too tight. Almost like he knows I want to go. I can’t believe I tried kissing him. I can’t believe he rejected me.

I pull back, and he finally releases me, avoiding my gaze.

“I’ll go,” I say, and he attempts a word, but I interrupt him. “It’s fine.”

“If you don’t want to come to my place, let me drive you to Emma’s.”

I shake my head no. I can’t take one more minute in this car. My cheeks are flushed, and I can feel the rest of my body joining the same tomato color. “It’ll be fine, Shane. I promise.” I force my work expression over my face. The same one I offer Billy when he gives me some horrible news and pretends to be happy about it, and the same I give Alex’s mom when she asks when we are planning to get married and have kids.

He grimaces, and before he can insist, I get out of the car.

“Wait.” He joins my side, my heels click-clacking on the sidewalk much faster than usual as tears burn behind my eyes. “Wait, Heaven, please.”

“Shane, we’re fine. We’re—I’m fine. I need to go.” My hands shake as I struggle to fit the key into the lock.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “Please, you know—”

Tears are threatening to come out, so I push the building door open and run up the stairs. I almost stumble twice, but I pick myself up and continue. I shove the thought of Shane away, as if it never happened. Compartmentalize, that’s what I need to do. And when I halt, blood is thumping at my extremities.

Breathless, I glance at the door of my apartment, then at the stairs I climbed.

I can go back and face Shane, or I can go forward and face Alex. A third option includes calling Emma and having her sort out my mess, but as tempting as that sounds, I need to do this. I need to find the strength to fight for myself, and I’m doing it now.

Stepping toward the apartment, I don’t let the erratic beats of my heart talk me out of this. I’m going in. I quickly fit the key into the lock and open the door, slamming it loudly behind me. He needs to know I’m home, I’m inside.

Whispers and movements travel to me from the bedroom. Evidently, they didn’t lose any time.

With a deep breath, I try to keep the bugs crawling under my skin in check. I can’t believe he’s having girls over. Has he done it before? When I was at work, maybe, or when I spent that week at Emma’s place?

After dropping my bag in the kitchen, I open the fridge and grab a bottle of water. I take a sip, then two. I’m not thirsty, but I’m waiting.

There’s more whispering, and then an angry, “I don’t want to be involved in this,” followed by a much more muffled, “Please.”

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