I take a sip of soda to stifle my laugh.
“Yeah, not a good enough reason to use the word penetrate, man,” Connor offers, tone dry, posture stoic.
The snort shoots up my throat before I can contain it and I inhale soda into my nose. My laughter breaks loose at the same time I gasp for air. Choking, howling, who knows what’s happening, as I alternate between coughing up a lung and cackling like a hyena. Reagan’s shoulders bounce and I turn to Connor whose expression is nothing short of proud amusement. He knew exactly what that would do to me. I clutch a hand to my chest, head thrown back in hysterical laughter.
Drew is far less amused. “Ok, I get the joke, Gretch. I didn’trealize it was that funny.” He looks to Connor for an explanation whose only response is two hands raised in surrender as if to say“don’t look at me.”
I press the heels of my hands over my eyes as laughing tears stream down my face. After a few seconds, I rally. Kind of. “I’m sorry. It’s not—” Another burst of laughter escapes. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
At that, Drew turns and sits back down.
I spin back to Connor who meets me with the goofiest grin—smug and silly. He and I both got hisPitch Perfectreference that was absolutely…pitch perfect. Within moments, my laughter’s back and, this time, Connor’s laughing, too.
And just like it did when I opened Drew’s door, it feels likethenagain.
When I makeit back to Bloomington, it’s after dark.
Franny is fine. I’m pretty sure she could survive the apocalypse without me if her feline eyerolls are any indication. Her lack of interest in my company is astounding.
While I dish up the cat’s food, my mind wanders back to the events of the day. Despite our interactions toggling between awkward and easy, being around Connor was…nice. I still don’t know how to feel about everything and it’s obvious there’s still a physical attraction there, but maybe that’s all it is.
Maybe that’s all it ever was.
I don’t have the mental capacity to fall down the Connor rabbit hole right now, so I focus my thoughts on the trip.
I had an opportunity after the game to come clean to Drew. The Uber dropped us all back at his building and Connor was gone a minute later, headed for his place a few blocks away. Reagan bid me a quick goodbye before she went inside, leaving Drew and me on the sidewalk. I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
Guilt coursed through me but was replaced by love just as quickly when he pulled me in for my all-time favorite brother hug—my arms around his waist, cheek resting against his chest and his chin on top of my head. Even if I can’t get the words out until the last possible second, I know he’ll be there for me.
After I change into my pajamas and wash my face, I swap my contacts for glasses and return to the kitchen for some of Mom’s tuna casserole. Standing over the sink, I’ve eaten my way through a third of the baking dish when my phone buzzes on the counter.
Connor
I had fun today.
I set the dish aside and hover my fingers above the keyboard. Another message comes through before I can reply.
Connor
Do you think we could meet for coffee or something soon? To talk?
Nowhe wants to talk?
I felt something today. Something warm and familiar and secure. But it was a farce, because whatever his reasons are for dropping me three years ago, I can’t forget the heartbreak. The devastation.
He walked away. I cried.
He never called. I cried.
He moved on with someone else while I was still crying.
He’s had three years totalk. Yet, he hasn’t.
Just like that, I’m right back where I started the night he left me alone on that balcony: devastated and confused.
If I don’t keep my hands busy, I’ll send a panicked reply that I know I’ll regret. I bypass the dishwasher, flip the faucet to fill the sink with water, and squeeze in some dish soap. When the suds have risen above the layer of dishes, I sink my hands into the warm water—plunge, scrub, rinse, repeat. My hands move mindlessly, but as my thoughts spiral, frustration turns to indignation and my blood begins to boil.
He wants to do thisnow?