Waiting For It - Allyson Lindt Page 0,32

body, over gray sweatpants and his bare chest, to his damp hair and captivating stare. God, he looked good. The past rushed back in a wave of longing and desire, of staying with Sadie and always hoping for a glimpse of something like this.

Fuck, that hurt.

“I really am sorry. Talk to me, please,” he said.

I wanted to. Wanted it so desperately that part of me was willing to accept and agree with anything he said, to make things right. That was the problem—I’d cave, and they’d think they could do something like this again. The way Shawn used to.

I shook my head, grabbed my purse, and walked out of the room. My heart dove into my empty stomach with a thunk, and my brain warred with itself. I was being unreasonable. But I wasn’t. But I was. But... I grabbed my phone, more out of habit than because I wanted to look at it.

There was a text and a missed call from Sadie. Call me. Stat.

It was an emergency. I’d been moping in my own thoughts all night, and she needed me. I dialed her number, and pressed my phone to my ear as I stepped off the elevator.

“Hey,” she answered cheerfully on the first ring.

“Hey. Are you all right?” I wandered over to a tucked away corner of the lobby.

“Yeah. Are you?”

What? I settled onto a cushion that let me press my back to a pillar. “You’re the one who sent an emergency message.”

“You’re my emergency,” Sadie said. “I’m worried about you.”

Realization spread through me, drawing a sad smile. “You talked to Chase.”

“He didn’t give me details. He just asked me to tell you he was sorry. Said you wouldn’t hear it from him.”

No. My thoughts revolted. I didn’t like the idea of someone playing messenger on my behalf. “I heard him fine.”

“What happened?” Sadie sounded concerned.

Which—of course she was. I might doubt Chase and Luke’s motivations, but Sadie was my best friend. My sister. “Apparently, there was more to this whole hitting on me thing than he or Luke disclosed up front.” I laid out the conversation from this morning for her. Bile coated my throat when I got to the part about the bet, but I made it through the whole story without falling into tears of frustration.

“Basically, Chase and Luke went out, and it didn’t go anywhere because they both like you, and they talked about that.” The way she said it made the whole thing sound simple and trivial.

Wasn’t it?

I bit the inside of my cheek, to collect my thoughts before replying. “They discussed competing against each other to win me over. They made a bet. And they never bothered to tell me.”

“Telling you kind of invalidates the bet, right?” Sadie laughed.

I didn’t know how to respond. She was agreeing with every part of me that said I was being dumb.

“Jax and Grayson talked about dating me, before they approached me,” she said.

“Jax and Grayson were already a couple, and they didn’t talk about you like you were some sort of prize to be won. They didn’t establish rules. Contest terms. A bet, about who could steal your heart first. Chase and Luke might as well be cashing in skeeball tickets for me. I don’t even know if they like me or just liked the idea of the competition.” The moment I spoke the words aloud, they latched onto a fear I hadn’t given a name. Now it was real. And gut-wrenching.

“I think you’re exaggerating. And of course they like you, Sadie said.”

Was I? Exaggerating? Why did I feel justified in my reaction in that case? “This is exactly why I should have turned Chase down. I knew everyone would take sides.” My gut had been right about that. “I didn’t think...” The next words were harder to say. “I didn’t think you’d be so completely on his. I thought you’d give me a little bit of—”

“I’m not completely on his side. I can hear in your voice that you’re miserable, and this morning you were so happy, you were almost singing.”

“They used me as the wager.” I must not be making myself clear. What wasn’t I saying right? “If I tell Chase this is no big deal, that my feelings on the matter aren’t important as long as he didn’t mean anything bad by it, how’s that going to help me feel better?” I’d love an answer, because she was right. I felt like shit.

“That’s not—”

“What you meant. Right. Silly Anne, misinterpreting things. Blowing