“He really said all that?”
“He sure did.”
“Here, this is pretty,” Rachel says, handing me the short little red sundress I had on when Miles got home on Wednesday night. “He told Reece the night we were all at The Jumps you were the one. Something about you finally finding him. So, why don’t you get dressed and then we can all go so I’m not late to my own shindig.”
Emmett sits up and pulls my hair tie out, fluffing my hair. “Yep, let’s go so you can tell your guy you made a mistake and you’re sorry for torturing him the past twenty hours or so.”
“He’s not my guy anymore. And I’m not wearing that.”
“Oh, honey, if Miles says he’s your guy, then he’s your guy. Now put on the dress.”
Thirty minutes later,I’m in my red dress, but I’ve added a wide brown belt and a cropped jean jacket. We’re sitting in the girls’ favorite booth, and I’ve managed to tuck myself into the corner.
I’m trying my best to focus on the fun conversation about Emmett and I opening up a cute little new and used bookstore here in town that started while I was getting ready, but as amazing as the idea sounds and no matter how serious I may be about the topic, focusing on the details of the conversation is nearly impossible. Every time the door to the bar swings open, my gut wrenches in anticipation of him walking through it. When he doesn’t walk through the door this time, I’m lost in myown head, wondering if he isn’t here because of me. Have I hurt him so much he would miss tonight with his best friends?
Did he get in an accident on the way here?
Did something happen to Lou?
Where is he?
Why is he so late?
Why…
My thoughts are derailed by the breathtaking man who by simply walking through the door changes the atmosphere.
Crackle.
Finally.
I’m not changing my mind about being with him, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care.
That I don’t love him.
Because dammit, I do.
But this time, I have to love myself more. I have to remember the pain and humiliation from before.
He knows where to find the girls and heads right to our table. He makes it no secret he sees me from across the bar. There never is any hiding from his eyes. Pulling my jean jacket closed in the front to hide the dress I have on underneath, I squirm in my seat, averting my eyes when he reaches the table.
“Ladies, what are we all drinking tonight? I’ve got the next round.”
“Just EBCs for us and Beau’s famous margarita on the rocks for Mason.”
“No EBC for you tonight?”
“Not tonight.”
I have a feeling my favorite beer would taste a tad bit bitter to me now. A reminder of what could have been.
“Wow, you really are stubborn,” he says with new edge to his voice. His megawatt smile is turned down a notch or two. Yep, he’s still pissed. “I’ll bring a couple of pitchers of beer and one margarita over stat.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
He ignores my comment but not me. There is a small smile on his face, but his eyes are full of sadness and somehow confidence all at once. As if to say, when are you going to pull your head out of your ass and stop hurting us both?
Oh, Miles, I wish I could. Trust me. It’s better for us both to just end it now.