Page 40 of False Start
“I guess guilty minds think that way about their peers.” I could’ve slapped him and had less of a response. Hurt flashes across his face, and I immediately feel guilty for pouring salt in the wound.
He holds a hand up and swallows hard. “I deserved that.” Then he hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to work out.”
“Bryant…”
“It’s okay, baby. I gutted you. I don’t know what it feels like, but I deserve every ounce of pain you dish out. And I’ll take it because I love you. Have a good day.”
And then he’s gone. I hate the person I am when I lash out at him. I know it’s because he hurt me and somewhere deep down, I want him to hurt too. But I don’t want to be this person. I’m not proud of who she is. Something has to change.
ALL WEEK I’VE TOLD myself I’m not putting effort into Friday, and I’ve avoided any talk on the matter from anyone. But as it inches closer to Friday, I begin to panic about my outfit, hair, and makeup. I don’t want to look like I don’t take care of myself, but I also don’t want to look like I went through any extra effort. It sends the wrong message.
By Thursday night, I’m borderline hyperventilating about toeing the line between pretty and friendly. I try on several outfits and play with my makeup, and feel like a total dork answering the door when my doorbell rings at nine in the evening in yoga pants and full warpaint.
“I brought beignets and coffee,” Bryant says and holds up a Cafe du Monde box.
I open the door and frown at him. He looks me up and down. He’s a real fan of yoga pants. “Our date isn’t until tomorrow.”
His smile falters, and I once again feel like shit for making him feel bad. “It’s cool. I can leave them with you.”
“No, please come in and share them.” I open the door wide for him to pass through. “Let’s put them on the coffee table in the living room. I’ll grab us plates from the kitchen.”
On my way to the kitchen, I debate whether to take my makeup off so as to not give him the wrong impression, but he knows me well enough to know why I’d take it off.
When I return to the living room, Bryant is on the couch with his arm draped across the back, white paper coffee cup in his hand. He looks at home even being as large as he is on the loveseat. I have a feeling of déjà vu, like I’ve been here before, and I have a million times–being at home with him, tucked into his side on the couch as we relax and unwind together. It was my favorite part of the day.
“What took you to the cafe?” I ask.
“I was walking around remembering the time we got so drunk and rowdy in that old bar down on Bourbon that they threw us out. Do you remember the night? If you told me that night Ben and Zina wouldn’t be together forever, I would’ve thought you were crazy.”
“Yeah.” I smile. “It was a good night. I thought they’d be together forever, too.”
He sits forward on the couch and opens the bakery box. “The beignets are still warm-ish, but we can pop them in the microwave and nuke them if you want.”
I sit beside him and hand him a plate and a napkin. “They’re okay the way they are. Thank you for bringing them.”
He gazes up at the television show paused on the screen. “What are you playing?”
“Vikings.”
“Gruesome.”
I laugh. “Yes, but I’m obsessed with it. I have the biggest girl crush on Lagertha. She’s a badass.”
He snorts. “Am I at risk of losing you to a woman?”
“No. I like being with a man, but I find women to be beautiful.”
He turns to face me. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I guess so.”
“Please don’t get mad.”
“I’ll try.
“Have you been with anyone else?”
“That’s none of your business. You forfeited the right to know.”
