Page 12 of His To Erase
She stays suspiciously still. “It’s nothing.”
“Sarah.”
She sighs, pulling the phone back out with the guilt of someone who just texted an ex. “Okay. So. You know how I said I blocked Kaleb?”
“No.”
“Well, I did. Emotionally.”
“Jesus Christ.”
She winces. “He just messaged me, saying he was in town.”
“Please tell me you didn’t reply.”
“I didn’t! Yet.” She bites her lip, then mutters, “I may have heart-reacted.”
“Sarah.”
“It was a reflex!”
I try to stop a laugh from coming out, but I can’t. “So let me get this straight. The man who ghosted you for six weeks and then reappeared with a new girlfriend and a motivational podcast is now back in town—and your first instinct is heart emoji?”
She groans, dropping her head into her hands. “I know. I have a disease. It’s called attention whore.”
I try to glare, but she looks genuinely tortured that I mostly just wanted to throw my hairbrush at her. “What does he even want?”
She looks at me. “Dinner.”
“No.”
“I said maybe.”
“Sarah!”
“Okay, god,” she laughs, standing up and grabbing her bag. “You’re right. I’ll cancel. Probably. Eventually. But I do need to get out of here before I cave and text something worse. Then I’ll be late for work.”
I narrow my eyes. “Define worse.”
She smiles sweetly. “A selfie.”
“Oh my god.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t actually do it,” she calls over her shoulder. “Not unless he double-texts.”
She’s already halfway to the door, waving her phone in the air like a white flag of slutty surrender.
She just had to go pick up a shift, so naturally, I said yes to the date. I don’t even know why, I’m capable of sitting at home alone for one night.
Maybe I thought it’d finally shut him up.
I’m just tired of him hovering like he already knew I’d cave eventually. Maybe I wanted to prove—to him or myself, I don’t even know at this point—that he’s not as unshakable as he pretends to be.
Whatever the reason, it was a mistake.
I should be in my sweats, curled up and eating something unhealthy. Not standing in front of my closet trying to figure out how to look like someone not going on a date with a man I already don’t trust.
Eventually, I settle on my usual—black on black. Obviously. I end up in a fitted crop top with a neckline dipping just enough to cause problems, but not enough to be an open invitation.
