“Are you mad at me?”
Evan snorted at my question, and I thought about the night before and what happened. Or didn’t happen.
We argued—or, rather, Demon and I did. Taylor squirted us with the hose and things went to hell in a hand-basket. I think Grandma Halle pulled me out of the
fray by my earlobe, a move she hadn’t used since I was thirteen. I met my brother’s girlfriend, Winnie, who probably thought I was crazy, but that was okay; it just meant she was a good judge of character.
Right before the fireworks, I called Evan and he came over to watch the fireworks with us. It was insane and tense because of the fight Demon and I’d had in front of everyone. All I wanted to do was take him down a few pegs, and then it got ugly.
“I’m not mad, but I think I know what has to be done.”
“Shit,” I muttered, knowing it as well.
“Kristen, you’re one of my best friends. I’ve known you a long time. We’ve had a lot of fun together, but this isn’t working anymore.”
“Oh my God, are you breaking up with me?”
I tried to look indignant, mad, something other than that pinch of hurt because he was removing me from his life with speedy surgical precision that was cold and yet not.
“You are totally breaking up with me, you asshole!” Even as I said it, there was a strange relief that came over me because I didn’t have to make the decision. That made it seem like a cop-out, but Evan and I knew each other well enough that he knew I needed the push, even if I couldn’t ever admit to him or myself.
I tossed a pillow at him and he tossed it back, letting it bounce off my bed.
“Seriously?” he said.
“Yeah, yeah. We haven’t been together-together in a true relationship, but still.” Was I allowed to pout? I didn’t know the protocol for breaking up a non-relationship.
“I asked you to marry me once and you remember what you said?”
Of course I remembered. I remembered everything about that day, and the weekend after when we went to Sonoma to celebrate our friendship and lack of engagement. Over several bottles of wine, I told Evan that he didn’t love me. He loved the idea of me just as much as I loved the idea of love, but I hadn’t felt it yet—not with him, though I loved him the way best friends love.
Evan told me he had a dream about the woman he would marry—she would look at him like he’d hung the stars in the night sky—and while he thought we could have that, he also worried I didn’t need him the way he needed me. It was sobering, despite the alcohol we consumed that weekend. We ended up agreeing to continue scratching our itch together until one of us found that person who made those stars in the night sky sparkle. I knew Evan hadn’t, which meant he’d realized I had, with his nemesis of all people, and he was setting me free as much as he was letting me go.
“We were so good together,” I murmured, a little sad and disappointed as Evan moved in to bear-hug me. His thickly muscled arms wrapped around me tight and secure, but his hold was off, his tattoos of dark ink wrapped around, and he was too bulky when I craved the leanness of another man who worked a job with much more manual labor. Evan wasn’t Damien.
Shocker, right?
“We’re the best of friends, but I think we both know you couldn’t commit to me because your stubborn heart is elsewhere.” He poked my chest gently—not in a sexual way, but in the way that wakes you up and reminds you why you are the way you are. Sometimes it sucked having someone know you that well.
Admitting that was hard. “Ugh, I hate when you’re right.”
“I’m not going to deny we have some fantastic sex, but that’s not a good basis for a relationship. You know that. I know that, and honestly I need more.” Evan needed to feel a little like he was rescuing the girl, I got that, but I was the girl who didn’t need a savior or a white knight. I needed someone to fight with me, go head to head and leave me breathless, wanting more, and this was our crossroad. Once we diverged from here, there was no going back.
“So am I supposed to feel better knowing we saved ourselves from a divorce down the road?” I blew a raspberry at him and got up to pull the ring he gave me from my dresser. Evan stood up behind me and we looked in the dresser mirror together when he spoke.
He smirked. “Have you met my dad?” Evan joked, placing his big warm hands on my shoulders.
Mr. Rooney was a pastor. He was super-religious and a real hard-ass. Evan barely talked about his dad—or his mother, who seemed like a meek version of him, standing in the shadows.
“Do you want this back? I mean, I should really give it back because it should go to your forever girl, not your itch-scratching female BFF.” I held the ring up to the light—a pretty pear shape diamond with baguettes on the sides. I had seen it in a magazine and fallen in love with it instantly.
“Keep it. It’s the ring I bought with you in mind. Someday, when I find my girl, I’ll get her something new that speaks to who she is as a person I’ll share my life with.” Funny thing was that I knew Evan would find his happily ever after someday. He was a good guy—he just wasn’t my guy, and I knew that deep down.
“God, ugh, why are you so damn perfect?” I put the ring back in my drawer, turning in his arms.
“Because it pisses Damien off and I know when you figure out what’s going on inside that head of yours, he’ll be a better man because he had to try so hard proving it to you.”
“You’re still going to fuck with him aren’t you?”