been hidden, locked away tight somewhere. “And that’ll hurt him enough. Please don’t hurt him more by confessing our betrayal.”
“You were broken up,” I whisper, even though her description of what we did is an echo of my own thoughts. “You can’t betray someone you aren’t committed to.”
“You and I both know that’s not true.”
“We can’t keep this secret forever. I want to kiss you in public and hold your hand, and I’m willing to wait a couple of weeks, a month even, but eventually it needs to come out, and it’s better if it comes from us.”
Her stony face falters, but then she closes her eyes and her walls go back up. “There is no us, Arrow. There can’t be.”
I feel like she punched me in the gut with a set of brass knuckles. I fucked this up. “What happened? Did Brogan say something to you? Something about me or . . .” Or is guilt gnawing at you the way it’s gnawed at me all morning?
She drops her head and studies the floor. “You were right last night. You said that when I decided to date Brogan, I was choosing him. That I did it knowing I couldn’t date you. It was true then, and it’s still true now.”
“So last night was . . .”
“I’d been drinking. I was emotional. It was a mistake.”
“Right.” Fuck. My first concussion was more enjoyable than this. I look around for my keys, grab them off the counter, and head for the door, where I have to stop because leaving her literally hurts. It tears me apart from the inside.
“I’m sorry, Arrow. You’re a good guy. I just . . .”
“You just made a mistake.” I attempt a smile, but even I can feel it twisted on my face—half plastic smile, half painful grimace. “For what it’s worth, last night wasn’t a mistake on my side. Not even a little.”
Mia
My apartment is on fire.
I rush to unlock the door when I see the flames flashing on the other side of the glass. My hands shake and fumble the keys, and before I can find the right one, someone pulls open the door.
Brogan.
And the apartment isn’t on fire. Candles glow from every surface, flickering under the breeze created by the ceiling fan.
“Surprise,” Brogan says, taking my bag from my arm.
“What?”
“This is a birthday redo,” he says. “I shouldn’t have missed it. Tonight I’m going to make up for that.”
I don’t relish celebrating my birthday. I find the whole idea weird—people focusing on me and doing something just because I happened to leave my mother’s womb this day years ago. And frankly, I hate being the center of attention.
Brogan told me he’d change that. He said he’d teach me to enjoy the spotlight. And then he canceled our plans and left me at home while he went out of town.
It’s not even my birthday anymore, but here he is and I’m afraid I’m a lost cause, because after the day I’ve had, I don’t have the energy to dodge his well-intentioned romantic advances.
“Brogan.” I sigh. “I told you this morning I didn’t want to talk to you. What are you doing here?”
He holds up a hand. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, but just hear me out.”
“Fine.” I fold my arms across my chest as he leads me into the apartment and to the kitchen. It smells great in here, like chocolate and fresh bread, and I realize I haven’t eaten today. I don’t usually forget, but my mind is so crowded with everything that’s happened, even remembering to eat seems like too much.
I sit at the table, where he’s laid out a feast in chocolate: chocolate pastries, chocolate-covered strawberries, chocolate chunk cookies, and, of course, in the center of it all, a three-tiered chocolate cake already topped with flickering candles. “Why’d you do all this?” I shake my head.
Brogan isn’t like Arrow. He doesn’t have an endless bank account at his disposal. Sure, he grew up in a house nicer than mine, but as far as I can tell, his parents are up to their eyeballs in debt—choosing to buy their way into a higher social class even if they can’t afford it. “You didn’t have to, Brogan. I don’t need it.”
“You deserve it.” He takes the seat beside me but sits sideways on the chair so he faces me. “Do you remember telling me that you wanted to grow up and marry a guy who made you