Page 33 of Heartland
“Dylan,” she says softly. “I didn’t even let him fuck me. Let’s not fight.”
“We won’t have to,” I snap. “We’re finished. I’ll drop your stuff off at the dorm’s front desk tomorrow.”
I end the call just like that. Because there’s nothing left to say.
Rickie sets down his teacup and gives me a slow clap. “Well done. Clean break. You know I never liked her.”
“Yeah, but I did.” I feel like punching Rickie right now. And for what? Cluing me in? None of this is his fault.
“What did you like about her?” he asks.
“What does it matter now? This is why I don’t date.”
He gives me a pitying look. The tea kettle whistles, and I get up to pour myself a cup. “Did you really take the stage at the poetry slam?” I ask suddenly. That would have been fun to watch.
“Yes and no. I was too stoned to make something up, so I read ‘she being Brand’ by e.e. Cummings. That guy was a fucking genius.”
“I see what you did there.” We both laugh, because that poem is a thinly veiled description of sex. It was definitely the most shocking thing ever assigned in my high school English class.
After refilling both our mugs with hot water, I sit back down at the table with a grumpy sigh. “She totally played me. How did I let this happen?”
“Oh, easy,” Rickie says, blowing on his tea. “But you won’t like hearing it.”
Rickie is—shocker—majoring in psychology. And not just for fun. It’s his true calling. I don’t always enjoy his analyses of me. But they are rarely wrong.
“Okay, I’ll bite. How did I walk into this mess?”
“You and Kaitlyn both need to be the one who’s less in love. For you, it’s just a convenience. You don’t enjoy clingy feelings. But Kaitlyn needs the adoration. The imbalance feeds her. She got tired of being with someone who’s unavailable.”
“What are you talking about? I spent tons of time with her. Every weeknight.”
“But you don’t need her, and she knows it.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Be honest—what was the best thing about Kaitlyn.”
I close my eyes and picture her devilish smile. “She was fun. She had a lot of energy. She liked to party.”
“On your cock.” He smiles.
“Well, sure.” Kaitlyn made no secret of her enthusiasm for sex. “But what’s your point? I was good to her. And she treated me like shit.”
Rickie just shakes his head. “You were good to her, because that’s your default setting. But you didn’t love her.”
“I’m twenty years old. Not exactly eager to pick out wedding invitations.”
“No kidding. But yet you can’t admit to yourself that she’s not your type—aside from the sexual compatibility. Which, given the loud rejoicing that frequently came from your bedroom, must have been on point.” He leans back in his chair, like a grand duke in the palace.
“So? I shouldn’t feel badly?”
“Nah.” He grins. “The girl did you a favor. She freed you up to pursue the girl who really is your type.”
“Sorry?” I don’t think I had enough coffee today to follow this conversation.
“Chastity.”
“What about her?”
