Page 75 of Tap Left
Mmmhmm. Well, I’ll let it slide this one time.
My focus returnsto the computer screen. I’ve been staring at market research data all morning, and my eyes are blurry. There isn’t enough coffee in the world for this, and the problem is that I was up all night tossing and turning after Daire’s message.
I shouldn’t be thinking about it, but I am. How can I not? His words play on repeat in my head. I want to text him back. I want to pacify him and tell him it’s okay. Because what I asked him to do was my idea, and he just went along with it. Daire doesn’t need another reason to feel guilty. But then again, this whole scenario just circles back to my own issues. I can’t tell Daire how to feel. I can’t control what he does or how he acts, and I can’t comfort him for something he should already know himself.
If Daire wants to help himself, he needs to learn that he is an adult who makes his own decisions. He can’t use this or anything else as an excuse to fuel his addiction, and I can’t continue to take on everyone else’s problems. But it doesn’t make it any easier.
If I’m being honest, I miss him. I miss him terribly. My heart aches every day that goes by, and I don’t receive a message from him. I can’t even begin to count the amount of times I’ve thought about texting him in the middle of the night. Or showing up at his office. Or calling him from a blocked number just so I can hear his voice before I hang up. But doing any of those things would be foolish.
My heart might be torn, but I don’t think Daire’s is. He likes to play this game with me. He likes to keep me close, but not too close. He’s afraid of his own feelings, and he’s terrified of being vulnerable, and because of that, I doubt he’ll ever find someone to push past those barriers. Lord knows I tried.
My phone pings, and it’s another message from Tap Left.
ThatGuy:
Whatcha doing?
LolaB:
Market research.
ThatGuy:
Sounds… exciting. Maybe we could do a little market research together over lunch this week. I think you’ll find that I have a wealth of knowledge in that department.
Ismileat his persistence and then shake my head. I don’t know why I keep putting it off. When I dove head first into saving the shop, I told myself that I wouldn’t allow any other distractions. But I’ve been working nonstop, and maybe some outside help is exactly what I need. Besides, if I meet him in a strictly professional capacity, it might help with some of the anxiety I’m feeling about the whole situation.
LolaB:
If I agree, could we keep it to business only? I really do need to focus on my shop right now. But I’ll admit that I could use all the help I can get.
ThatGuy:
Holy shit. Did that actually work, or am I hallucinating? Yes, we can keep it to business. But I can’t promise not to be awestruck by your charm once I’m sitting across from you.
Ilaughat his cheesy line, and then a voice from behind startles me.
“Lola.”
My shoulders jump, and the phone in my hand clatters onto the desk as I turn slowly and face the last person I expected to see standing in my office.
Daire.
He looks tired. Exhausted, actually. And I don’t think he’s been taking very good care of himself. I want to scold him and ask him why, but that would be the old Lola.
I am not responsible for his well-being. I am not responsible for his well-being.
I keep repeating it in the hopes that I’ll actually make myself believe it.
“What are you doing here?”
His eyes move to my phone. Guilt eats at me, but I have no idea why. We aren’t together, and I’m not doing anything wrong. So, I don’t know why it feels like I am.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He looks like an abandoned puppy, and he’s as humble as I’ve ever heard him.
He closes his eyes and blows out a breath, and I can’t seem to find mine. I want to tell him that I’ve been thinking of him too, but I know no good can come of it.
“Lola, I don’t know how to do this,” he says. “I’m not good at people. I’m not good at doing right by the people I care about. But I care about you.”
