You silly, stupid man
Gigi’s not talking to me. As in, she’s straight-up ignoring me.
All right, that’s not entirely true. She did text to say she doesn’t feel like seeing me right now.
That was four days ago. I’ve felt like an ass ever since I left her dorm, but I’m not great at this shit. Talking. Apologizing. After my calls kept going to voicemail, I sent her three different apology texts. Each increasingly more frustrated, as evidenced by our third exchange on Sunday morning.
ME:
I don’t get it. I said I was sorry. I was in a bad mood that night. Didn’t realize I
wasn’t allowed to be in one.
GISELE:
If you still think that’s why I’m mad, then you’re never going to get it.
ME:
Can I please just call you?
She’s typing. Then the three dots disappear, and her name appears on the screen.
As my pulse speeds up, I duck out of the living room, where my roommates and I were watching football, and into the kitchen.
Fuckin’ finally.
“Hey,” I say, a little too eagerly. “Hi.”
My heart clenches at the sound of her voice. It’s crazy how much you can miss someone’s voice when you’re no longer hearing it every day.
I lean against the kitchen counter, letting out a breath. “I don’t like that you’re ignoring me,” I say roughly. “Yeah, well, I didn’t like getting yelled at.”
Regret fills my chest. “I know. I’m sorry. I was in a shitty mood and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
There’s a long pause. “Is that it?” she asks. I blink. “Um. Yeah?”
She makes a frustrated noise. “We’re together now, right? Dating?” “Yes…” I say warily.
“People talk to each other when they’re dating.” “Aren’t we talking now?”
“You know what? Apology not accepted. I have to go.” “Gigi—”
“No, I’m going to lunch with Mya and then for a run. And clearly you have nothing worthwhile to say, so…”
She ends the call without saying goodbye.
My jaw drops. I’m still staring at the screen wondering what the hell just happened, when Shane saunters in to grab a bottle of water.
I’m completely mystified. I apologized. What the hell else does she want from me?
“What?” He eyes me from the fridge.
“I pissed Gigi off and she won’t accept my apology.”
“Women, amirite?” he says, then wanders back to the living room.
I trail after him, grumbling irritably. “Seriously, like what the fuck?” “What’s this now?” drawls Beckett.
“Gigi is mad at him,” supplies Shane.
“Am I not allowed to have a bad day?” I demand.
“Women, amirite?” Shane says, refocusing his attention on the Patriots game.
“Are you just going to say that to everything I say?” I ask him.
“Yes.” His gaze remains glued to the screen. “The Pats are playing and your problems don’t really interest me.”
Will chuckles from his perch on the couch.
Desperate for any insight, I turn toward him. “You’ve known her the longest. Can you help me out here?”
“No way. I’m not getting involved in this,” Larsen declares. “Bad enough that I’m in the middle of this Gigi and Case thing.”
“She and Case are not a thing,” I reply in a deadly voice.
He chuckles at my ominous face. “No, but they used to be. And she was my friend first, so after that breakup, I suddenly had to navigate the minefield of those two friendships.”
“This is not a breakup,” I growl.
“Just keep apologizing,” Shane says absently. “You’ll wear her down eventually.”
“Make her a playlist where all the songs are about sex,” suggests Beckett. “Get her horny enough to forgive you.”
“You know what? Fuck off. None of you are helpful,” I say.
Beckett looks at me, then blinks and turns to Will. “Let’s do shots. I too am bored of his problems.”
“Same.”
The two assholes go to raid the liquor cabinet, while Shane watches the game, indifferent to my current state.
I don’t know why I’m even bothered by this. Whatever. We were dating and I guess now we’re done. For a stupid fucking reason, mind you. But fine. It’s over.
Okay…that’s not fine.
I don’t want it to be over. God fucking damn it.
It’s in this moment I wish I had some female friends. There was one foster sister I was close to in high school, but we drifted apart after
graduation. Other than that, any time I’ve tried to be friends with a girl, she just wants to fuck me. Probably conceited as hell to say, but it’s true. I realized a long time ago there’s no such thing as platonic. These days, I only allow myself to be friends with my friends’ girlfriends. Very little risk there, although every now and then a girlfriend will totally hit on me.
An idea suddenly brightens my mind. That’s the solution.
I scroll through my contacts until I find Darby’s name. Nick Lattimore’s girlfriend. I have her number from when she was planning Nick’s surprise party last year.
I compose a quick message, keeping it as vague as possible. Only the people in this house know about Gigi and me, or that I’m even dating someone, and I’d like to limit that information as much as possible.
A couple hours later, I get a text that Darby’s on her way. Not long after that, the doorbell rings. I throw open the door.
“Hey,” I say awkwardly.
“I don’t understand this,” she says in lieu of greeting. I don’t understand it either.
She comes in, smacking a quick kiss on my cheek. She’s wearing combat boots and a tight sweater beneath her winter coat. Darby’s a cool chick. Confident, energetic. Always wondered what she was doing with a serious bastard like Nick.
“Called in the cavalry, I see,” Beckett mocks when we pass the living room. “Hey, Darby.”
“Beck.”
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” I tell her. “You want anything to drink?” “Tea, please.”
I’m pretty sure nobody in this house drinks that, but I rustle around in the cabinets because Shane’s mom is the one who stocked them. Knowing her, she’d have made sure we had some of everything. Sure enough, I find some herbal tea and get the kettle going.
“I know this is weird,” I tell Darby. “Literally the weirdest thing ever.”
“But I just needed a chick’s perspective on something.”
She flops down at the kitchen table, eyes alight with curiosity. “On what?”
“It’s, ah, a woman problem.”
“You called me here to talk about your love life?” she shrieks. Then she lets out a calming breath and speaks in a reverent voice. “This. Is the greatest day of my life.”
“It has to stay between us,” I warn. “Luke Ryder has a girlfriend.” “Why is that so shocking?”
“Oh my God. You don’t even know how excited I am right now. You’re seeing someone?”
I nod.
“Is it serious?” “I think so.” “Oh my God.”
“Stop saying that.”
Darby narrows her eyes at me. “So how did you screw it up?” “Who says I did?” I grumble.
“Did you?”
I pause. “Yes.”
Grinning, Darby kicks out another chair with her foot.
I carry her tea over and set it in front of her. After a beat of reluctance, I sit down, sigh, and proceed to give her a quick rundown of my fight with Gigi. Leaving out names, locations, and any pertinent details that might be used against me in a court of law.
When I finish by voicing my irritation that my apology supposedly wasn’t sufficient, she starts to laugh.
“What?” I glower at her. “You think she’s right to be mad at me?”
“Do you even know why she’s mad?” Darby counters, echoing Gigi’s sentiments from the phone call.
I swear, do all women belong to some sort of telepathic network where they just know why they’re angry?
“Because I snapped at her.”
“Oh, Ryder. You silly, stupid man.”
She’s still chuckling as she reaches for her tea. The steam rises into her eyes when she takes a sip.
“Okay, let’s recap. Something happened to put you in a crabby mood.” “Yes.”
“So you went over there in a bad mood.” “Yes.”
“She asked you what was wrong and you said to drop it. Then she pushed and you snapped at her.”
“Yes.” Guilt pricks me at the reminder that I snapped at my woman. “And you apologized for snapping.”
“Yes,” I say in frustration.
“But she’s telling you she’s not mad that you snapped at her. She’s mad because…?” Darby lets that hang, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.
“No, you don’t get it. She hasn’t told me why she’s mad.”
“You should know why!” Darby sputters in amazement. “Dude. She’s upset because you wouldn’t fucking tell her why you were in a bad mood. What was the thing that happened to upset you? What, do we live in some mystery land where we don’t talk about things? The whole point of dating someone is to get to know them and share in all their moods. Their good moods, their bad moods. If I have a bad day, you damn well know Nick’s going to hear about it. He’s going to know every single detail.”
“You realize you’re a chick, right?”
She snorts. “You think Nick doesn’t tell me things too? Like, when he and his younger brother got in a huge fight last month, that’s all he talked about.”
“I’m not a talker,” I mutter. “Then don’t be in a relationship.” I sigh.
“Seriously, Ryder. There are different rules in play now. If you’re just hooking up with someone, banging here and there, you don’t have to talk about important things. But the second you start dating them, the expectations change.”
I rub my forehead. “I don’t like that.”
“Well, hate to break it to you, but that’s how relationships work. You have to talk. If something’s wrong, the other person wants to hear it. They need to hear it.”
My stomach churns. The idea of telling Gigi about the prosecutor’s call or my dad’s whereabouts, his parole hearing…it twists my insides.
But then I think about Gigi and how easily she tells me how she’s feeling, even when it makes her uncomfortable. And I realize I don’t give her anything in return other than orgasms.
Darby grins at me over the rim of her teacup. “You know I’m right, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I grumble. “I know you’re right.”
A sudden commotion sounds from the hallway. A loud crash, as if the front door flew open and smashed the wall. Thunderous footsteps then barrel down the hall.
I jump out of my chair just as Nick Lattimore comes tearing into the kitchen. He looks at me. Eyes Darby at the table. Then, before I can blink, he pulls his fist back and sends it flying toward my face. I dodge at the last second, so the blow only grazes my cheekbone, but there’s no dodging the accompanying jolt of pain.
“What the fuck?” I demand, as Shane, Beckett, and Will run into the kitchen.
“Lattimore, stop,” Shane says, pulling him away from me. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Me?” he roars. “He’s making a play for my girlfriend, and you’re asking what’s wrong with me?”
“Are you crazy? I’m not after your girlfriend,” I growl.
“You sent her a text that says, and I quote: Come over to my place and don’t tell your boyfriend.”
I falter. “Oh, in hindsight, that was worded poorly.”
Beckett doubles over in laughter. “Jesus. That’s fucking priceless, mate.” Darby rises from her chair. “Sorry, Ryder, I know you told me not to say anything, but Nick and I don’t keep secrets.” She punctuates that with a
look.
Point taken.
