Page 14 of Every Broken Piece
Just as he closes my office door my phone pings.
The fucker sent me those pictures.
Chapter eight
Tess
“You know Conor likes you, right?”
Amelia’s lounging on my bed, watching me attempt to swipe mascara on my lashes. She arrived on my doorstep an hour ago and declared we were going out. So even though I had a whole night planned with the latest popular romantasy book, hot chocolate with peppermint shavings, and my favorite blanket, I didn’t argue.
I’m an introvert.
I know I’m an introvert.
I enjoy being an introvert.
More importantly, it’s safe to be an introvert. There are reasons I don’t go out much. My home is my sanctuary, my safe space. No one can find me here. No one can bother me. At least I hope not. But even I realize it’s not healthy to hide behind the walls of my apartment all the time.
And sometimes I crave the connection to other people.
Even knowing all that I’m mourning the quiet night I’m leaving behind for a loud bar packed with people.
“He does not,” I say as I swipe on one more layer of mascara then step back and scrutinize my lashes. Mascara and a little bit of blush, followed by lip gloss is about the most makeup I ever do and I’m happy with tonight’s results. It’s not like I’m going to pick up men. I’m going because I need to be social. I’m comfortable with my little friend group but anything more than that and I tend to fade into the woodwork. By choice.
“Don’t you see him watching you all the time? Not in a creepy way,” she hastily adds because that sounded really creepy. “But in a mooning way.”
I snort at the word mooning.
“You don’t get how attractive you are, Tess. You could probably have any guy you wanted.”
“I don’t want a guy.”
“So you always say. That’s not natural.” She pauses. “Unless you’re into girls?”
“Geez, Amelia. No. I’m not into girls.”
I’m not into relationships. No. That’s not true. I want a relationship. I want the swoony feeling of knowing someone is there for you. I can’thavea relationship.
The baggage I’d bring isn’t worth it. Long ago I resigned myself to my single status. It’s simpler that way. Safer. And while it sometimes makes me sad, and sometimes I’m lonely for that one person who just gets me, it’s for the best.
“Would you go out with him if he asked?”
I drop my lip gloss into my small wristlet. “What are we in grade school? Did he ask you to ask me out for him?”
She shrugs and I gape. “He did! We’re almost thirty years old, Amelia. We don’t do this stuff anymore.”
“You make him nervous.”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s go.”
Amelia has a tight group of friends that have accepted me into their fold. I guess they’re my group of friends too. Havingfriends is tricky for me. I try to keep them at arm’s length because becoming my friend can lead to complications. Just like becoming someone’s girlfriend can lead to complications. Basically, any close association brings a risk of...consequences.
But Amelia never takes no for an answer and for some reason she decided long ago that I was going to be her friend, and her friends were going to be my friends, and she burst through the walls I’d started building when I was too young to know I was building walls.
So far nothing bad has happened because of our friendship, but I’m always holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Would you give Conor a chance?” she asks as we leave my apartment building.
