It pisses me off more than anything. It’s as if she’s just trying to get it over with.
“Sorry for what?” I say slowly, my jaw tight with withheld irritation.
“For …” It takes a few seconds for her to continue. “For being a jerk, I guess.”
“You guess,” I repeat with a mocking laugh.
“You weren’t necessarily a perfect little angel either,” she volleys back with a hard bite to her words, and a grin inexplicably forms on my face.
I lean into the couch, my head falling backward against the edge.
“At least I know what I want.”
I hear her sigh through the phone, clearly annoyed by my pushback.
But the thought of me irritating her only makes my grin widen.
Spoiled brat.
Probably so used to always getting her way.
“Can I make it up to you?” The nervous hope in her tone takes me aback, and my smile fades. But her next sentence surprises me even more. “Can you come over? Like, now? I want to show you something.”
My throat bobs on a hard swallow, and I lick my lips before replying, “To your hotel?”
“No, uh, to the penthouse actually. I’m not moved in yet, but … Can you just meet me there?”
What would she want to show me at the penthouse? Memories of the last time I was there dig their claws into my brain, robbing me of any rationality. I consider refusing her invite just to get back at her, but the ache to see her stirs alive inside of me.
Reckless curiosity wins.
“Okay.”
When Connie opensthe door to her new place, I’m racked with nerves. I’ve gone over multiple scenarios in my head, and I still have no idea what to expect.
“Hey,” she says softly with a timid smile.
She’s dressed casually in white jeans and a knit sweater. When she opens the door wider to let me in, I’m left even more perplexed about the visit.
“There’s no furniture in here.”
I take one step inside. Just enough for her to close the front door. She laughs nervously, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear.
“Yeah, like I said, I’m not actually moved in yet.”
She doesn’t add more to her statement, as if it’s perfectly normal to invite me to an empty condo. She leaves me to take off my boots, casually strolling into the kitchen.
“Are you going to tell me why I’m here?” I ask while I peel off my coat and sling it over the kitchen island.
She rounds the island and faces me. “In a minute.”
Her smile is tentative, and I realize then that I might not be the only one handling their nerves badly. Picking up an open wine bottle from the counter, she pours us two glasses and slides one of them toward me.
“Here — I thought we could have a drink first.” She holds onto her glass in front of her with two hands as if it's some kind of shield. She quirks another timid smile. “Talk a little.”
I nod, feeling equally timid. “Sure.”
The silence turns awkward as we both stand there not knowing how to start this goddamn conversation. I take a sip of the wine just for something to do, the dry bite of it hitting the back of my tongue.
