Solving for Ex

Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-seven

confusion of discontent

I couldn’t believe I finally let Vincent Cole kiss me. Hell, I more than let him—I kissed him back. I even let him French kiss me. I definitely enjoyed it.

And I definitely had swollen, tingling lips by the time it got so cold that he took off his jacket, wrapped it around my shoulders and helped me down from the truck bed like a perfect gentleman. When he drove me home, walked me to the door, and said goodnight without trying to get his hands up my shirt or down my pants, I was actually floored. Right before he left, he took my hand, kissed it, and looked into my eyes. “Every night you turned me down was worth it, if all I ever get is just this one.”

I just stood there, with my stomach sinking, feeling like I should be smiling bigger, like my heart should be doing jumping jacks inside my chest. Like I should be a little more excited about this. I didn’t know what to say, but of course, he did.

“Tell me it’s not just this one, though,” he said, cupping his hand around my jaw. He leaned in and planted the most gentle kiss I could imagine on the corner of my mouth. “I do feel bad about what happened at Brendan’s. We shouldn’t have trashed everything like that.” I suddenly wanted, very badly, for him to kiss me again. Hard. A lot.

 “Can I see you? Tomorrow?” he asked, his eyes glinting in the light from the front porch.

“I….” How could I say no? I looked at him, how beautiful he was, how nicely he was dressed, how good he smelled. Why would I want to say no? Maybe he really meant it. Maybe I was overreacting about that one time he cheated on that one little test.

 “Yeah. Tomorrow’s great.”

“Thank you,” he said. It sounded almost like a prayer. I smiled and ducked inside.

That night, I lay in bed, waiting for the warm fuzzies to come. I had a boyfriend. Someone who drove halfway across the state to see me over Thanksgiving break, who decked out his rented truck bed and put together a picnic just for me, who begged to see me again tomorrow.

But instead of feeling the creeping warmth that would push my face into an unshakable grin and keep me up imagining picnic dates as far as my calendar could see, all I felt was tired. I fell into a black, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, I forced myself out of bed and into the shower. I had been so exhausted last night, and maybe so eager to crawl into bed and try to get excited that Vincent was my boyfriend, that I’d fallen asleep in the same clothes I’d worn the day before. I had brought some cute sweaters back with me, and I should have worn one of those and bothered to do my hair. Instead I threw on a hoodie that was fraying at the cuffs, and my most broken-in jeans. I tied my hair in a hasty ponytail and sighed deeply on my way out the door.

 I knew something was wrong. I knew it. But I didn’t want to know it.

I didn’t even hear half the things he said in the truck on the way to the diner. Some stuff about lacrosse, and another party he was going to when he got back to Pittsburgh—designated driver, he assured me. Everything punctuated by an occasional wave of his cologne in front of my face.

“What’ll you have, honey?” the waitress asked.

“Just the banana pancakes, please.”

“No bananas today, hon.”

“What?” I looked at her like she’d said they only served worms and pigs’ feet.

“No bananas,” she said, slowly and loudly, like I was mentally impaired.