Page 2 of He Loves Me Not

In my defense, I try to block out anything remotely related to spending time with Dawson. It gives me anxiety. I cannot control a room full of thirteen-year-olds five days a week and juggle anxiety. It's just not humanly possible.

"Dawson will be there," Mom says, like she's sweetening the pot. "He'd love to see you. He thinks you've been avoiding him since the wedding."

"I have not." I totally have. Am I telling my mother that? Absolutely not. The last thing I'm admitting to her is that my new stepbrother stars in far too many of my fantasies these days. I see his hot, grouchy ass at dinner, and all I think about is the dirty things he did to me in my dreams the night before. It's all kinds of awkward. "I've just been busy."

"Well, he'd love to see you."

She's dangling a carrot in front of my face without even realizing that I'm addicted to…well, the thought of his carrot. Will I go just to see him? Yes. Of course I will. I have an unhealthy obsession with the man.

It's a sickness, really.

Maybe I need a therapist instead of ridiculous games and too much wine with my three best friends, affectionately known as the Sisterhood. Surely therapy is a better coping mechanism for an unhealthy obsession than plucking petals from a daisy and playing MASH to decide if Dawson loves me or not, right?

It sounded like a good idea when we were three bottles deep on Saturday night, but in the light of day? Well, let's just say I'm seriously wishing I'd woken up with game-sized holes in my memory yesterday morning.

"Please come, sweetheart."

"I'll be there," I grumble into the phone. "Just tell me where and when."

"We're going to Ember and Onyx tomorrow at seven," she says. "Dennis already made the reservation."

"I'll be there," I promise.

"I can't wait to see you." Mom pauses. "Are you sure everything is okay? You've been distant since the wedding."

"Mom," I say softly, my shoulders slumping. "You know I love Dennis, and I love him for you. He treats you like a queen. I have no objections to this marriage whatsoever. I've just been busy."

My dad died when I was fourteen. Until Mom met Dennis, she was on her own. I do not begrudge her happiness. I'm not upset that she's finally moved on. Truly.

Maybe a tiny part of me wishes it weren't with Dawson's dad, but that's not her fault. It's not like she even knows that I've had a crush on the man since Dennis introduced us over a year ago.

"Okay, sweetheart. I just wanted to make sure. I worry about you."

"I'm fine," I huff, hurrying toward my car.

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."

"Love you too," I murmur, disconnecting before I pop the locks and scurry inside my car. I drop my stuff into the passenger seat and then lean forward, placing my forehead against the steering wheel with a loud groan.

The Universe is conspiring to keep me as close to Dawson Iverson as possible, I'm sure of it.

My phone dings with an incoming text.

I glance over at it, only to groan again. "Speak of the hot devil," I mumble, grabbing it like a freaking kid in a candy store.

Dawson: What's up, Half Pint?

Me: Stop calling me that.

Dawson: No can do, sweetness. It suits you.

I scowl at the phone. I swear, he goes out of his way to annoy me. Why? See previous complaint about the Universe conspiring against me. It's the only explanation. It's not like he's fantasizing about me every night. Oh no. That's my own affliction.

Me: Why are you texting me?

Dawson: Just making sure you're still alive.

Me: I'm alive.