“I just wanted to make sure you got the tickets I left.”
Whew. He didn’t know. “Yes, thank you. You guys looked great out there.
“It’s been nice having you home. So, you’re feeling okay? You sound quiet.”
“I’m good. Just tired.” I pulled the comforter up to my chin.
“Well, I’ll stop by tomorrow if you want to grab lunch.”
“Sounds good.”
“Just a few days until the wedding. Can you believe it?”
Ugh, the wedding weekend after the stomping of my heart. “Yes, I’m sure it’ll be a great time.” I’d rather be waterboarded.
I heard him take a breath. “See you tomorrow. And Fern?”
“Yes.”
“I love you. You know I’m always here for you, right?”
My first smile in hours. “Right back at you, Bro.”
Lunch with my brother, pretending all was well, led me to Brandon’s apartment where I now rest my head on his chest as we watch Netflix in his bed. He stroked my hair, and I felt a little peace from the torture that had been the last twenty-four hours. I’d forgotten what a good cuddler he was and couldn’t think of a place better to get over Gabe.
“So you’re using me to get over the hockey dude?”
I looked up at his chiseled cheekbones, blond hair, and the brown eyes you could get lost in. “You got it. Your bed is the only place that can make me forget the man who I thought was really into me.”
His arms wrapped tighter around me.
“Can you make me forget him again?”
He chuckled. “Really? You have quite an appetite when your heart’s broken, don’t you?”
“Give it to me.”
“You got it, baby.” He rolled over and grabbed the third ice cream sandwich I’d had in the past hour. FYI, Brandon has been my best friend since the fourth grade. We always got each other, loved stupid movies, and the outdoors.
Our freshmen year in high school I had a little crush on him because he’s so stinking adorable. Since neither of us had ever kissed anyone, I suggested we be each other’s first kiss and get that bad boy out of the way. But once it happened, we quickly decided it could never occur again. We were buds and would never be knockin’ boots. Totally gross.
He works for Renaissance Financial in Omaha, Nebraska as an investment advisor, but works remotely most of the time in St. Paul. We’re connected at the hip whenever I come home, and he flies out to visit me a few times a year. He’d been in St. Louis on business since I’d been home and returned at the perfect time to help stitch up my busted heart.
He recently got out of a two-year relationship because his girlfriend was, well, a bitch. I called that a year ago, but I was supportive as he tried to make the square peg fit into a round hole.
“You’re the Maid of Honor this weekend. You’d better quit eating all this junk, or you’ll bust a button or something.”
“Well, I clearly can’t find or buy happiness, but I can eat a shit ton of ice cream, and that’s kind of the same thing.” I peeled off my wrapper. “I’m dreading everything about it. How am I going to put on a smile when I’ll have to stare at the most beautiful man in the world who crushed me?”
He grabbed an icy treat for himself. “You’re a bad bitch, Fern. You’ve got this.”
Dread had knitted a quilt and was suffocating me with it. “I’m not a bad bitch. Right now, I’m an emotional Fruit Loop. Shit. What if he brings a date? You don’t think he’ll bring a date, do you?”
“Nah. He won’t.”
“You’re probably right, but who knows. Clearly, I still can’t read men and have dumbass stamped across on my forehead in glitter. Damn Guygar.”
“You’re not dumb. You followed your heart with a guy who’s a player. Quit beating up yourself and focus on just having the best time at the wedding. Screw him. Dance with every dude you can and make him regret the day he let you go.”
