Page 18 of Left In The Dark

“Oh, him?” He huffs a laugh. “He told me you two broke up, and I was having a rough week. We shared some drinks at a bar and then spent a weekend together. It didn’t mean anything.”

“And you really want me to believe that getting with him had nothing to do with you getting under my skin? What about my dad?”

“No . . . I honestly didn’t even make the connection when he offered to pay for my drinks. And what about your dad?” His eyes are hooded.

“You know what? I don’t know why I even agreed to this. I never should have. Dinner was pushing it as it was.” I stand from my seat and people start to pour in.

“Where are you going?” He straightens in his seat.

“Home. I forgive you, okay? So no need for more of your make-up or amending bullshit. I don’t want to hear any excuses either. I just want you to pretend I don’t exist whenever you see me somewhere. Can you do that?”

“I . . .” I walk out of the theater, leaving him tongue tied, not finishing his last thought. I don’t need to hear it. I don’t care to. He’s still all about his own needs and what he’ll get out of something. This was never about him making shit better between us. Not out of guilt or wanting to do better. Nothing from that man will ever come from a good place.

Still, I leave things where they are because I’m better than this—than him. And I keep saying those words to myself on my drive back home, like a mantra. I said my peace and left him alone, looking like a speechless idiot in a movie theater. It felt good. He’ll go on with his life and I’ll go on with mine. This town is small but I’ll make it work. He can stay on his fucking side of the bar and grocery store while I stay on mine.

I swerve down my dirt road, vision all over the damn place. How does he always manage to get me so overheated? I shut down his advances and didn’t give him what he wanted. I won this time. So why doesn’t it feel like enough? Maybe because what happened four days ago is so fresh in my mind. The smell and sloshing. How their laughter was like nails on a chalkboard. The glint in his eyes was hard to miss when he tore into me with one of his typical insults.

I don’t remember how I got into the house after I arrived home, or when I stepped into the shower, only now registering my hands slamming into the walls, bruising each time my skin comes in contact with the tile. A date? He really thought I’d want to date him?

It’s the damn audacity. He really thought he was such hot shit that I’d simply look past the damage he’s done, and what? Become one of his play things? Have him use me until he’s bored and then go right back to laughing at me? I’d rather submerge myself in more pig guts.

A knock at the bathroom door has me shutting off the shower. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to a book club meet up at the church. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Okay,” I say quickly, drying off with a towel and waiting for Mom’s footfalls to go quiet enough for me to emerge from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist.

The front door shuts as I’m rushing to my room. I rustle through my drawer, pulling out some sweats and a plain T-shirt. As I’m using the towel to soak up more water from my hair, the doorbell sounds around me. My gaze shoots toward the hall and I lower the towel, one end dragging on the ground as I slowly approach the echoing noise. I’ve always hated how a whole fucking jingle plays, repeating itself three times before shutting the fuck up.

I’m frozen solid after opening the door. Blake shrinks in on himself, revealing a brown wallet from behind his back. “You left this behind. I think it fell out of your pocket at some point.”

I snatch the wallet from his hand, looking it over before tossing it on the entryway table. “Thanks,” I say, closing the door.

A knock comes as soon as I turn my back, and I curse under my breath, balling my fists at my sides. Why won’t he just go away?

I yank open the door and he looks everywhere but me, his hands placed behind his back as he sways side to side.

“What?” I say between clenched teeth.

“I . . .” His chest heaves. “I don’t want to leave things like this. It doesn’t feel right. And I really didn’t know you and Stephen were still together. He said he was single.”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Oh, now it doesn’t feel right, huh?”

He scratches at the back of his head. “It never has, but I don’t want to just go home and pretend it didn’t happen anymore. Hayden might not have changed, but I’d like to try.”

“I don’t understand what it is that you want. I already said I forgive you.”

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t feel like you do, and I really want you to see that my apology’s sincere and there’s no hidden agenda. I mean, yeah, I think you’re sexy and may have gotten a little ahead of myself after what I thought was a connection.”

I give him a dead‑eyed stare. “A connection?”

“Yeah. I haven’t talked to anyone like that . . . I’m not sure . . . ever. It was nice and the conversation never felt forced. Nothing felt expected of me either. I didn’t feel like I had to try or anything. And did I mention you’re super sexy?”

I scoff, following his gaze as he takes his time looking me over. “Did you tell my dad he was sexy too? Did you also have a connection?”

His expression goes blank. “Why do you keep bringing up your dad, and why would I ever say that to someone over twice my age.” He wrinkles his face.

My eyes squint. He has to be fucking with me. “You’re saying you weren’t sending my dad naked photos of yourself through some sugar daddy app?”