Page 80 of Floored (Frenched 3)
But the headlights remained in front of my house. Nervous, I turned off all the lights and peeked out. It was Charlie’s car.
My phone pinged.
Biting my lip, I walked slowly toward it. Picked it up.
Are you awake?
Should I answer him? Part of me figured he’d just gotten off work and was lonely too, which was an even better reason to ignore him than the fight we’d had. If I saw him tonight, I wasn’t sure I’d have the willpower to stop myself from sleeping with him.
No. Don’t do it. Don’t let him get to you—he’s just looking for someone to make his pain go away for an hour.
But another part of me thought maybe he’d had time to think it over and wanted to talk again. Was I ready to listen? Now that my temper had cooled somewhat, I had so many questions. How old was she? What was her name? Why hadn’t he told me? Who was her mother? Where did they live? Did he have custody? My phone pinged again.
I miss you so much. And I’m sorry.
My throat squeezed. I missed him too. So much that I was willing to give him the chance to provide some answers. I’d go crazy if I didn’t learn the whole truth. But the headlights began moving slowly down the street and turned the corner.
He was gone.
#
I don’t think I slept all night. I lay awake, phone in my hand, typing and deleting a thousand messages.
I miss you too.
Delete.
I’m sorry too.
Delete.
I’m still awake. Come back.
Delete.
Crap, this was harder than I thought. I wanted him to let him know I was willing to talk but also convey that I wasn’t completely over what he’d done.
In the end, I settled for direct.
Let’s talk.
We agreed to meet for coffee at Starbucks on the second. Neutral space. I thought it best to avoid my house, where I might be tempted to A) drink or B) get naked.
When I pulled into the parking lot, the sight of Charlie’s car set a mass of butterflies loose in my belly. But it was nothing compared to what the sight of him standing near the door waiting for me did to my heart. It stopped, cranked out a few erratic beats, then settled into a patter like hummingbird wings. I parked my car and walked toward him on unsteady legs.
“Hi.” He moved toward me as if he were about to kiss my cheek but aborted the mission.
Oh, God. We were back to awkward.
“Hi.”
He opened the door for me, and we waited in line silently before ordering drinks and choosing a table in the back. At two in the afternoon, the place wasn’t that crowded—just a few people with laptops and a few pairs of friends.
“How have you been?” he asked quietly. No sign of the teasing, cocky Charlie I met last fall, nor was he the cold, defensive Charlie he’d been the night we fought. Today he just looked sad.
Miserable without you. “OK.”
“How was your Christmas and New Year’s?”
