Page 82 of Easy Steal
“So, what do you want, Evan?”
“I wanted to see how you were going, talk about some things.”
“Like what?” I snapped.
“Everything that happened between us.”
“Jesus Christ, Evan,” I rolled my eyes. “It’s been years. What could there possibly be left to say? For us to talk about? Move on.”
“Lots of things,” he frowned. “It was all out of the blue when we broke up, you just disappeared. We never got any closure. Plus, I just was curious how you were doing these days.”
I scoffed, “are you serious? Of course I just disappeared. I was a teenager, and you hit me, on many different occasions.”
He let out a deep breath.
“Youhitme, Evan.”
The waitress reappeared and placed my coffee down in front of me and I smiled up at her. It was as if even she could sense the tense situation between Evan and I, because the bubbly, bouncy smiles were gone, and she didn’t even look at him.
“I know that I hurt you,” he said quietly. “I know that, Oli. I was a stupid, young kid too. I had a lot of anger inside of me that I probably got from my father, but I’m not like that any more.”
I nodded, looking down at the little design in the foam of my cappuccino.
“I’m sorry, Ol, I really am,” he reached across and put his hand on mine.
“Well, thank you. But you have to know that it doesn’t change anything. I don’t know what you’re expecting to get out of this Evan.”
He shrugged, “I thought we could reconnect. We were good together for a while, you know.”
I laughed out loud, “no we weren’t.”
“We had fun, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, but fun does not equal a happy or healthy relationship. We did stupid teenage things together and got in stupid teenage trouble.”
“We’d have a kid right now if things went differently.”
I bit my lip and swallowed the hot iron that felt like was stuck in my throat and shook my head.
“Why would you even bring that up?”
He shrugged, “I think about it sometimes.”
I took a sip of my coffee.
“Don’t you?” he asked.
I assessed his expression, and couldn’t quite figure out if he was being sincere or manipulative. Evan was a great actor, and that was the reason naive little Olivia stayed with him for so long and put up with so much shit.
Livie was not so stupid.
“Not really.”
“Come on, Ol,” he groaned, “surely you do.”
I shrugged, “I try not to.”
“Sierra said that you told her about it,” he said nonchalantly, reaching over and taking my mug and taking a sip of my coffee.
