Chapter Twenty-two
IT’S SEVEN NOW, and since I haven’t heard back from Dakota after this afternoon, I text her that I can’t wait to see her.
She texts back a contented-looking smiley face. I don’t know how to read emoji, so I decide it’s a happy smiley, not a bored one.
I hope she’s not standing me up.
I really, really hope she’s not standing me up.
I sort of hate that she’s unpredictable now. A really big piece of me misses when I was a part of her life. I was her best friend and her lover. She shared her thoughts with me, her hopes, and even her dreams. We dreamed together, we laughed together—I knew every thought she had, every tear she shed.
Now I’m an outsider, waiting for her to decide to call me. I miss the days when it wasn’t even a question if I was worth her time.
Why am I getting so down? I need to perk up and stop thinking of the worst when it comes to her. I’m sure she’s just busy and she will call or text when she can.
If she was going to flat-out cancel on me, she would tell me.
I think?
Lying on my bed, staring at the hockey game on my television, I watch a big guy in a teal jersey get slammed against the glass. The San Jose Sharks. I recognize the jerseys of both the Sharks and their opponent. I don’t really care for either team, but I’m bored out of my mind and I don’t know what to do besides stare at my phone and wait for Dakota to call.
“Landon . . .” A soft voice is accompanied by a softer knock on my bedroom door.
It’s Tessa, not Dakota, and I’m trying not to be disappointed. I almost tell her to come in, but I need to get out of my bed. I can’t just lie here and wait for Dakota. I can at least go to the living room.
Yes, I know it’s still pathetic, but sitting on the couch is a little less pathetic than lying in my bed, right?
I stand up and walk to the door. When I open it, Tessa is standing in the doorway wearing her work uniform. The lime-green tie makes her eyes look even lighter and her blond hair is in a long braid resting on her shoulder.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.” I run my hand over the stubble on my jaw and step in front of her to go toward the living room.
Tessa sits down on the opposite end of the couch and I rest my feet on the coffee table.
“What’s up? Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Yeah . . .” She pauses. “I think so. Do you remember that guy named Robert? The one who I met when we went to the lake with your mom and Ken?”
I try to remember the details from that trip. The red panties floating in the hot tub, Tessa and Hardin barely speaking to each other, the brunette in the black dress, playing I Spy with Hardin and Tessa on the way down.
I don’t remember a guy named Robert, except maybe . . . the waiter?
Oh, shit, I do remember him. He drove Hardin half-mad.
“Yeah, the waiter?” I confirm.
“Yes, the waiter. So, guess who works with me, starting today?”