Page 49 of Puck Me Twice

“Okay,” he says quietly. He opens his door and rounds the SUV to pop the trunk, extracting my suitcase and work bag. I open the car door before he can, reaching for my bags.

“Thanks for the ride home,” I tell him.

“Anytime.”

He ducks down to kiss me.

I can’t.

At the last moment, I turn my face, so he gets my cheek.

“Goodnight, Vanessa,” he says quietly.

My eyes well with tears. He sounds so sad. I want to turn around, tell him that I want this, want him, that I⁠—

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Not while I’m still unsure. He deserves more than my hasty non-confrontational non-truths.

It isn’t until I’m in my apartment, changed into my pajamas and climbing into my bed, that the heavy weight of the evening crashes into me.

He likes me.

More than that, he compares other women to me.

Because I was his first.

He’s ready to say I do.

He wants this. He wants me.

He—

Curling into a ball, I bury my face in my pillow.

I don’t think I can do this.

seventeen

. . .

Sven

Brad calls me at the ungodly hour of eight o’clock in the morning. Normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal, except I got home shortly after one o’clock, and then laid in bed until close to four unable to sleep.

Did I fuck everything up?

“You’re headline fucking news, bud,” Brad says when the line clicks open.

“Okay.” What else is there to say? I scrub a hand over my face and sit up.

“Really? You kiss some staffer in front of⁠—”

“She’s not some staffer,” I interject. “She’s my girlfriend.”

At least, she was at the time. Now… I’m not so sure.