More Than Sorry

15: She Plays a Game

EDEN

The evil bitch inside me is alive and kicking.

Toying with the feelings of a man desperate for my forgiveness is a dangerous game. Any second now, bolts of lightning will shoot down from the heavens to scorch me to a crisp for the way I keep torturing Zach. But, honestly, I can't seem to help myself.

Two weeks have passed since we saw each other at the stadium. My drunken breakdown in the toilets of El Diablo Cantina is—thankfully—becoming a hazy memory, but Zach waiting patiently with me for a taxi for over an hour is still rattling around my brain as fresh as a daisy.

The problem is that I kinda haven't come clean and told Zach that I'm not dating Sam. Should I have told him the truth? Well... probably. Did I? Nah.

The trashy gossip sites were in a frenzy. Photos of Sam's hulking arm around my shoulders quickly made the rounds online, followed by all kinds of fanciful write-ups speculating about me being his 'new mystery woman'.

Yvette thought the whole thing was a riot, and Sam shrugged it off like it was no big deal, telling me the story would run out of steam sooner rather than later. Once I knew they didn't need me to set the record straight, I was mainly pissed that the websites didn't know who I was to give my salon a shout-out. But, whatever, it's not like I need the publicity.

So, now, most of Sydney thinks I'm hooking up with Sam.

Zach is no exception.

Call me weak, but I didn't block Zach's number again. Every morning and every night since we last saw each other, a sweet text message pops up. Just little comments like Morning, go get 'em or... I woke up thinking about you. Rarely he says something like, Nights are so long without you. Sometimes we share funny memes during the day too, but it's usually nothing serious, nothing heavy.

A couple of days after the photos blew up online, Zach's message told me he had seen the photos too. You really did look stunning in that black dress, popped up on my phone. The weekend after, the paparazzi got a shot of Sam and me picking up coffees on our way to Yvette's place for breakfast. Completely innocent, but you would never know that by reading the ridiculous headlines. That night, Zach was all kinds of miserable because he messaged just before midnight to say, I was a damn fool for ever letting you think you weren't my whole world.

And last night, when he asked me flat out whether he was crossing a line by contacting me when I have a boyfriend, I should have set the record straight. But, because my new personality trait is evil bitch, I still didn't correct him. I responded simply by saying that I looked forward to his messages. Smiley face, thumbs up, starry eye emojis. Let him decode that.

I knew I was playing with fire. Waving my big, red flag at the big, jealous lawyer was bound to blow up in my face.

That's why I'm not surprised to see Zach's sweet, earnest face waiting outside the salon. Not even a bit.

Zach's a sharp contrast this morning, every bit the hunky lawyer in his navy suit, but clutching a pink lunch cooler bag with cartoon cats painted all over it.

He nods a shy smile my way. "Good morning, Eden."

My mouth goes dry even though I'm sure drool must be oozing down my chin. Tall, handsome men in suits... god damn. I try to regain my composure, determined to prove to him his suity perfection has no power over me.

"Oh... Heee—eeey," I croak.

Yikes. That disinterested greeting I wanted to give him came out all kinds of wrong. Zach just smiles. Maybe his social awkwardness will work in my favor for once because I'm embarrassed for myself how weird that greeting sounded.