Page 40 of Almost Yours
It fuckingguttedme. I wanted to say all the right things, prove her wrong with every breath in my body.
I didn’t. I let her have space.
Now I just have to show up and keep doing that. So I tap out a reply, thumb hovering for half a second before I hit send.
Me:
Saturday night. Wear something you don’t mind sweating in. I’m winning you a giant stuffed hippo, even if it kills me. And then I’m walking you to your door with my hands in my pockets like a goddamn gentleman.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and lean my head back, unable to keep the stupid grin off my face.
Beau convinced me to start training with him at this MMA place on the edge of town. Said it would help me burn off some of that “restless energy” I’ve apparently got in spades.
It’s not like he was wrong. After six years of military discipline and private security work where staying alert was the difference between life and death, civilian life is…monotonous.
I’ve been coming here every night, working out until my muscles scream and my body finally gets as tired as my mind. Tonight is different, though. Tonight, I could float home.
sixteen
. . .
Violet
The playlist I put on for “ambience” is just taunting me. Third heartbreak anthem in a row, and I’ve tried on four different outfits, all of which scream varying levels ofI swear I’m not trying that hard.
I settle on jeans and a cropped cardigan that’s soft enough to hide nerves and just snug enough to hint at curves without shouting about them. The top button gapes a little when I move, and I consider changing again, then don’t.
In the mirror, I study myself, but I’m not sure what I’m looking for. The girl I see tonight is a little older, but she’s braver, too.
Why does it feel like such a big deal? It’s just Rowan picking me up with his gym shoes probably still in the backseat and a plan to spend way too much on arcade tokens.
We’ve hung out a million times… Just not for anactualdate.
I give my reflection one last appraising look before grabbing my phone from the dresser. My stomach is doing that fluttery, nervous thing it hasn’t done since…well, since him.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, reaching for the light switch.
When I step into the living room, Whitley’s sprawled across the couch, holding the TV remote with one hand and scrollingon her phone with the other. She glances up, eyebrows shooting toward her hairline.
“Holy shit,” she says, tossing both items aside. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend who owns seventeen identical scrub tops?”
I roll my eyes, moving toward the entryway where my boots wait. “It’s just jeans and a sweater, Whit.”
“A sweater that’s practically begging someone to use their teeth on those buttons.” She grins. “I mean, damn. You’re going forI accidentally look hotinstead ofI spent three hours planning this outfit, and I respect the psychological warfare.”
I shove my foot into my boot and glance back at her. “So I pass the vibe check?”
She whistles low. “You’re serving accidental thirst trap with a side of nostalgia. I’m obsessed.”
I groan, but my mouth twitches with a smile. “Please don’t use the phrase ‘thirst trap’ in reference to me ever again.”
“It’s a compliment! You look hot without looking like you’re trying to look hot. That’s the ultimate power move.” Whitley sits up straighter, her eyes narrowing with sudden intensity. “So this is really happening, huh? You and Wolfe Boy, take two?”
I busy myself with zipping my other boot. “It’s just a date. Not a marriage proposal.”
“A date with the guy who’s been living rent-free in your head since high school.” She tosses a throw pillow at me, which I catch without looking up. “The same guy who had you pacing around this apartment at 2 a.m. last week, reciting all the reasons why getting involved with him again would beemotional suicide.”
“I wasn’t pacing,” I mutter, though we both know I absolutely was.
