I suddenly felt exhausted.
The game we had played for months suddenly felt vapid and unappealing. Childish and immature. Once again, I chide my impulsivity. Nine times out of ten it ends up biting me in the ass. And maybe I have to face the obvious: Huxley isn’t ready for a relationship.
Maybe neither of us is.
I stare out the window, taking a slow sip of wine as the realization slowly dawns over me.
Has Huxley ever been in a committed relationship before?
Shit.
Why does it feel much too serious all of a sudden? For once, I’m grateful for Huxley’s passive-aggressive methods of confrontation.
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.
At least it gives me space to think.
Slow down and reflect on my past choices. I shake my head and laugh under my breath. Jamie would be so proud. She’s right; running away from my problems just isn’t sustainable anymore, especially at my age.
Sighing, I place my elbow on the cushioned armrest and plant my chin onto my palm, lost in thought. It really makes me wonder if my avoidant behavior stems from something deeper.
I snort out loud.
I’m not going downthatpath today.
One thing at a time, Connie.
I finish the last of my wine and set the glass on the floor next to the chair. I don’t even realize what I’m doing until I’m already thumbing through the pictures on my phone.
I have to scroll through all the selfies I took of me and Huxley at the Hendrick’s party to get to it … as well as the ones Huxley took of me when I was giving him head earlier that day. Heat curls low in my stomach. I’m embarrassed to admit how often I’ve stared at those pictures. I didn’t even realize he had taken them, I found them the next day when he had already started to ignore me. Given the circumstances, I hated how it made me feel. I even considered sending one to Huxley just to fuck with him.
Alas. I’m trying to act like an adult, and well … I wouldn’t risk that picture floating around unprotected. I’m just famous enough for it to turn into a scandal.
Finally, I find what I’m looking for.
It’s the pictures I took of Huxley when we first visited thisplace together. The golden hour illuminated his face just right. The genuine curiosity in his eyes as he scanned the kitchen. I felt inspired to capture the moment.
I must be a masochist to want to look at these pictures. But the ache is just right. The memories attached to them speak of an easier time between us, evenifthat was less than a month ago. Nostalgia slowly turns into resentment, then into anger.
Why did he have to go and ruin it?
I sigh and shut my phone off, chucking it beside me.
Maybe the solution to all my problems is simple.
Stay as far away from Huxley as possible.
And stay single.
41
CONNIE
Turns out that staying as far away as possible is improbable when my best friend and Huxley’s brother are happily engaged and own a business together.
My silent protest lasts a measly seventy-two hours before I witness Huxley walk into the sandwich shop while I’m there visiting Jamie.
“Shit,” I say under my breath as I crouch down in my chair trying to hide behind Jamie, who’s sitting in front of me. It’s a fruitless effort, to say the least when the shop is so damn tiny.
