they share a history and an obvious fondness for one another, even after not having seen each other in quite some time.
I shouldn’t have been jealous. I never made any promises to Wes. In fact, I specifically made him promise he wouldn’t wait around for me to sort out my shit. That he’d date other women if the opportunity arose.
But now the idea of Wes dating another woman isn’t simply the abstract notion it’s been the past few months. It can happen. I witnessed it myself.
Do I really want him to meet Sophia for coffee or drinks? What if drinks lead to dinner? What if dinner leads to something…more? Am I really willing to stand aside and watch that happen? I thought I was. I thought that was what I wanted.
Now the mere notion of someone else enjoying his kisses is like a vice squeezing my heart.
In the midst of my confusion and misery, my door flings open, as I should have expected. I snap my head up, a part of me wishing it were Wes calling me out on my bullshit. Instead, Hazel flies into my condo, her eyes alight with excitement. I’m assuming she saw him pick me up early this morning, then just drop me off. Or perhaps her husband, Diego, did. It doesn’t matter. That’s the thing about living next door to someone. They know all your secrets, whether you want them to or not.
“So how was your day?” She sits beside me, practically bouncing in her seat.
“Good,” I reply with a smile, before my expression falls. “Then horrible.”
She stops bouncing. “What happened? How did it go from good to horrible?”
“Wes surprised me with a trip to the flea market.”
“Aww…” She collapses against the cushions, placing her hand over her heart as she feigns swooning. “To most people, I’d say to ditch the schmuck. But knowing you, I’d say that’s the perfect day.”
“It was,” I agree. “Yet another reminder that when I talk, Wes actually listens.”
“Trust me. That counts for a lot these days. I can’t tell you how many men I’ve seen out on dates whose faces were buried in their cell phones. If all they wanted to do was look at their phone the entire time, they should have just stayed home.”
“I rarely see Wes look at his phone around me,” I remark thoughtfully. “Unless it rings and it’s work-related, he ignores it. But so did Jay.”
“And Wes isn’t Jay,” she admonishes. “Say it.”
I roll my eyes. “Wes isn’t Jay.”
“Try it again. With meaning this time.”
“Wes isn’t Jay,” I repeat, this time louder.
“Good. Now, where did you go after the flea market? As much as you love those, I doubt you spent twelve hours there.”
“He took me to the art museum to check out a new exhibit I’d mentioned I wanted to see. Then we grabbed some sushi. Which is where we ran into this gorgeous brunette he was friends with as a kid. When he introduced me, he called me his interior designer.”
“But isn’t that what you are?” she asks in faux confusion, an expression that screams “I told you so” written on her face.
“I—”
“Didn’t you specifically tell him that’s all you wanted to be?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest.
“Yeah, but—”
“Then what did you expect, Londyn?”
“I don’t know.” I dig my fingers into my hair, feeling like a pre-teen obsessing over a single word the object of her affection said when passing each other in the hallway. Instead, I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman obsessing over the man who’s become an everyday part of my life labeling me as I insisted he do. “Maybe for him to introduce me as a friend.”
“Or maybe you wish you were more than a friend.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I retort, avoiding her analytical stare. “Like I told him, I’m not ready for a relationship. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”
She remains silent for what seems like an eternity. “Can I be blunt for a moment?”
I snort. “Since when do you ask permission?”
“Figured it would be the polite thing to do. Because I’m calling you out, Lo. This excuse you’ve been giving him is bull-fucking-shit, and you know it.”
“No, it’s not. I—”
“It’s the same excuse you’ve given to every other guy you’ve brought home, but I kept my mouth shut because I could tell whatever was going on in those relationships was one-sided. That you didn’t feel that extra oomph you needed. And that’s okay. But with this guy? That’s not the case at all. You feel it.