Page 147 of Just for the Plot

He takes my hand in his and guides me toward the front door. “Want me to walk you to your apartment?”

I shake my head. “No, you have to get ready. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” I squeeze his hand and move away from him, offering him a smile. “Safe travels, Bennett.”

“Thanks,” he says as he releases my hand, looking pained that he had to do so.

And with one last tight smile, I head back home, taking the stairs so I don’t have to wait for the elevator. When I get to my apartment, I head straight for my bed, place my phone on the nightstand, and bury my head in my pillow, where I let all my emotions go.

I allow myself to feel, to sob, to cry until I don’t have any tears left.Because how can something that feels so, so right also feel so incredibly wrong?

I stare at my computer in front of me, at one of the book trucks I’ve been thinking about purchasing. I haven’t taken the leap yet because I can’t seem to put together a solid thought.

Everything feels muddled.

Out of place.

Not right.

I’m itching on the inside but burning on the outside.

I’m disappointed in myself but thrilled at the same time.

I’m concerned for my friendship but also dying to talk to my friend.

To sum it up, I’m not doing well.

And the pressure of it all keeps building up to the point that I crash out and cry.

I’ve done it three times already, twice in Adalade’s house and I’ve been able to hide it, but the third one, well, it happened right here in this coffee house.

At least Adalade didn’t have to see it, because the last thing I want to do is explain to her what’s going on, especially after the last few conversations we’ve had.

So, here I am, sitting alone, attempting to follow through on a promise I made to myself but can’t possibly figure it out—

“What are the chances of running into you here?” a familiar voice says.

I glance up to see Cougar, standing in front of me with a to-go iced latte and a smile on his face.

“Cougar,” I say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Grabbing some caffeine in between practice and film review.” He nods at the seat in front of him and I gesture for him to take a seat. “What about you?”

“Attempting to get some work done.”

“Attempting, huh?” He slouches in his chair like he always does. “Why does that sound like you’re not getting anything done?”

“Because you would be right about that. I’ve gotten nothing done.”

“That seems like shit.” He nods toward my computer. “What are you doing? Maybe I can help.”

I chuckle, the sound feeling foreign because I couldn’t imagine chuckling with my state of mind, but who says that? Who says they can help with someone’s work?

Cougar, that’s who.

I turn my computer toward him and say, “Attempting to pick out a truck.”