Page 109 of Bad Crush
“Thank you.” He grins. “Nice acting skills. I think Reagan rubbed off on you.”
It physically hurts every time I hear her name.
“No problem. If I’m going to be a good wingman, I’m going to need to know what your type is, though.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs one big shoulder. “What’s your type?”
An image of Reagan flashes in my mind. Is that my type? I try to find the common thread between her and other girls I’ve dated. Doesn’t matter. She’s the only one I want back.
“Thinking about Reagan again?” he asks with a grin.
“Maybe.”
“You get this look on your face. Look, I know we’re different, and so any advice I give you is probably falling on deaf ears, but I think you should talk to her. Get closure or get her back, that part’s up to you, but you’re a real bummer to party with.” He lifts both hands to his sides. “I’m finally single. You’ve been razzing me for years so we could pick up chicks together, let’s do it!”
Shit, he’s right. Many times I’ve wished we could do just this—party and be single at the same time.
“Okay, yeah, let’s fucking do this.”
For the next three hours, I am the life of the party, drinking, chatting to anyone and everyone. We play beer pong, flip cup. Hell, we even jump in the pool in our boxers. I don’t even try to fake interest in the girls that blatantly hit on me, but it doesn’t matter. Tonight is about Rhett and hanging with my best buddy.
Rhett’s giggling like a tween girl as we leave the party to catch a ride. Mav already left. It’s probably the first time ever that Rhett’s stayed out later than him.
“I lost a sock somewhere,” he says.
“Got a phone full of numbers, though.”
“Yeah.” We get in the Uber, and Rhett starts scrolling through his new contacts. “What’s the likelihood I’m going to remember who Pink Shirt Hottie is tomorrow?”
“Slim, buddy, but you can always lead off with a text that says something like, ‘I fat-fingered your name when I entered it into my phone, and now I can’t remember it, but I really want to take you out.’ In the future, have the girl enter her contact info in your phone. She’ll tell you as little or as much as she wants. I once had a girl include her full name, birthday, address, and in the notes a list of her favorite color, flower, and food. You can learn a lot about a girl by what she puts in your phone.”
“Wise words. Should have known you had a system.”
By the time we get to the apartment a few minutes later, Rhett’s so sleepy he shuffles up the stairs and into our place. He falls onto his bed facedown, fully dressed—minus one sock.
I head back out the front door, walk to Reagan and Dakota’s apartment, then hesitate. I knock softly and wait. I’m about to give up, head resting on the front door when she opens it.
“Hey.” I shove both hands in my jeans pockets and take a step back.
“Hi.” She folds her arms at her waist and looks around. “What are you doing here?”
“I missed you.” It’s honest, but damn, I hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that.
“I’ve missed you too.” The words should make me feel better, but she says it like it’s a real inconvenience.
“I started to text, but I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”
No response.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the other night. I can’t imagine what that was like for you having your mom show up. I should have gone with you, and I never should have let her use me as a messenger.”
“She would have found another way. She’s amazingly resourceful when she needs something. I went to see her today.”
“You did?”
Reagan nods. “I thought maybe she really had changed.” She huffs a laugh. “Lori wants to sell the house, but it’s in my name. She didn’t come to Valley to reconnect or because she thought I was engaged, she needed money. Like always.”
“I’m sorry.” Damn, I hate that woman.
