Sliding down the door, I sink, falling back into the emotional black hole Trevor left me in.
Though a constant lingering ache, the pain of the divorce lessened over time. I thought I was living with a tiny ache in my heart, but right now sorrow is tearing through me.
My hands in fists again, I pound on the floor underneath me. Damn Trevor and his bull crap about coming back for me. Though the sight of him brings back a fierce longing for us to be a family, I will never go down that road again. I might always have feelings for Trevor, but because he broke my heart twice, I will never trust him again.
With steely resolve, I unclench my hands, wipe the wetness from my cheek, and push myself up from the floor. I’m so pissed that after two years he can get a rise out of me. I march to the freezer and search for ice cream. Nothing but orange cream swirl, which is Ben’s favorite. I’d prefer something with chocolate, caramel, and nuts, but the orange will have to do.
Standing at the kitchen island, I eat a third of the ice cream straight from the carton until my stomach starts to hurt. But it’s a better hurt than the emotions my ex-hole induced. After putting the ice cream away, the blare of Nick Jr., Ben’s favorite channel, has me searching for the remote. With the apartment now silent, I retreat to the corner by the living room window where my easel sits and begin mixing paints.
Though my Advanced Watercolors class has a grueling pace, with a painting due every other week, I don’t mind all the deadlines. I’ve always found painting therapeutic. I like to make my watercolors unpredictable. Instead of flowers, lakes, and skies, I paint urban scenes of wet cement at night or derelict storefronts or an unfortunate bum sleeping in an alleyway.
My head clears as I focus on capturing the way neon light reflects onto cement and add the shadow of a streetlamp. After deepening other shadows, I clean my paint tray and brushes before picking up the toys strewn all over the living room. Then I sit at the dining room table and read about business fundamentals.
It’s both boring and mind numbing, which is exactly what I need after Trevor’s appearance.
Yet now that I’m not concentrating on painting, the apartment is quiet and lonely without Ben. The hum of the refrigerator and the sounds from the apartment next door echo in the empty space around me. I turn the page and the sound intensifies my sense of desolation.
When an incoming text beeps on my phone, the
I go to the counter, between the main room and galley kitchen, where my phone is charging to read the text.
Huh? I study the number. I’ve never seen it. I text back,
Before I make it to the table, my phone is dinging again.
I stare in dread at the text. I’m going to tattoo
My phone dings.
Why does he want to have coffee with me but not sex? Maybe he really did need to get the truck back. But I wanted—past tense again important here—mindless sex. I don’t want coffee. Coffee implies…something. Mindless sex implies nothing.
My phone beeps again.
My fingers drum on the countertop. With a sigh, I type in a response.
After acting like an idiot twice with Justin, I don’t have the heart to stand him up.
Though given the way I attacked him last night, I really, really should. I don’t want to be Trevor’s booty call. Justin shouldn’t be mine. But
A few minutes before eleven, I walk into the coffee shop next to the bookstore. It’s packed with students working on laptops. In Michigan, when it hits fifty degrees, the people come out in droves. Though I’m early— Romeo was shocked when I got out of bed before ten—I notice Allie already sitting in a corner. Her head is bent over a computer. Her auburn hair shines under the sunlight streaming through the window. My eyes narrow on the cup on her table. I’m kind of pissed she didn’t let me buy her a coffee. Like she’s stating this isn’t a date. Because it’s morning? Because it’s coffee? As far as I’m concerned, it is a date. I’ve never met a chick for coffee. I don’t even like coffee.
Suddenly, I’m annoyed. Not as bad as at the art show, but I’m definitely not happy. Allie and her mixed messages are fucking with my head. I don’t get fucked with. Ever. I whip off my sunglasses and stalk past the girl waiting behind the counter, heading to where Allie’s sitting. Another girl I don’t recognize tries to get my attention on the way, but I ignore her. I slide onto the stool next to Allie, and her gaze rises from the screen of her laptop.
“Mornin’,” I say, keeping my attitude somewhat in check.
“Hey.” She offers a slight smile. But those gray eyes are guarded. Always so guarded.
“Thought I was buying,” I say, pointing to her cup.
She shifts her legs and crosses a long jeans-clad leg over the other. One of the boots I’ve wanted to tear off her for a week now tucks behind her calf. She casually slides a curl behind an ear. “Thought we were just meeting for conversation.”
Her offhanded attitude doesn’t halt my rising anger. I lean toward her. Close enough to smell her familiar flowery scent. “That was before you shoved me against a rail and stuck your tongue down my throat.”
The guarded expression in her gray eyes gives way to shock. Her lips part in surprise and I can see the sexy hoop curving around the inside of her lip.
I inch closer and say in a low tone, “Unless the kiss was as fake as our date?” I trace her lip ring with my index finger. “But then, I didn’t see Trevor around.”
Her eyes change again. Fury fills them. She jumps off her stool, snaps the laptop closed, and reaches for her bag. While I smirk at her, she jams the laptop in the bag. “Fu—screw you, Justin,” she hisses, yanking the bag onto her shoulder, then rushing out of the coffee shop.
People around me stare. I don’t give a shit.
My anger drops as I notice her lone coffee cup.
Releasing a sigh at my own stupidity, I grab the cup and race out the door too. It only takes me a moment to catch sight of her gracefully hurrying across campus. I’m almost to her as she rounds the corner of the science building.
“You forgot your coffee,” I say, catching up with her.
She stops abruptly and snatches the drink out of my hand.
“Listen—”
She turns to go and I reach for her arm.
“Wait. I’m sorry. I was an asshole. You just seem to be jerking me around.”
She wiggles my hand loose but turns to me. “Jerking you around?”
“Cold then hot then cold again.”
She bites her lip ring and slowly adjusts the bag on her shoulder. “I…already apologized for the night at the studio twice. And you know I was a bit drunk on Saturday. I know that doesn’t excuse my behavior.…”
“You don’t need to excuse your behavior. I liked your behavior,” I say, then grin lopsidedly, which most girls
