Besides the fact that I felt like Dawson and I were like Noah and Allie (we totally weren’t), I was totally, one hundred and fifty zillion percent ignoring the whole Breanna issue. Dawson said he would handle it, and I’d let him.
It still ate away at me, though.
Especially right now, as I spied the girly shampoo and conditioner in his shower.
Freaking, stupid, expensive, good-smelling shampoo, too.
I almost poured it down the drain, just to spite her, because just as much as she didn’t like me, I didn’t like her equally as much. But I lifted my hand off the shampoo bottle, mainly because I couldn’t fathom wasting an $80 bottle of shampoo, even if it was Breanna’s, and honestly, if I knew that someone had thoughts going around in her head about my boyfriend the way I did right now to Breanna’s, I wouldn’t like me, either.
Giving myself one last look in the mirror, running my fingers through my air-dried hair, I puffed my cheeks and then let all the air out.
Dawson was my friend.
That’s it.
He wasn’t single, even if he did say that Breanna was his “kind-of girlfriend” (like I’d missed that little bit of info; it was a like neon sign flashing in my brain), but I had to put my game face on and I had to behave myself. Not that it was totally hard to behave myself. It wasn’t like I was going to sneak into his bed, wearing nothing but a lacy pair of underwear (not that I hadn’t imagined it), but I did have a hard time not staring at him for too long.
Any girl would openly stare at him because it was hard not to. He was a masterpiece; like his masculinity drew you in, inviting you to s
tare. It was his fault. Not mine! But I knew I needed to get myself together. I’d done it back in high school and I could do it now. Although, truth be told, I did not have these hormones in high school. I didn’t even know what an orgasm was.
Now I knew. I knew what it felt like to ride on top of someone, scratching an itch that needed to be scratched in the best way possible. I now knew what it felt like to have a man push his body up against mine and make me forget the entire world existed. I was well aware of what it felt like to crave a man, and desiring Dawson was like craving a margarita when you were also being offered an endless bowl of salty chips and spicy salsa.
You just had to have it.
Just like I had to have him.
“Behave,” I muttered, puffing my cheeks out once more before opening the door to the bathroom.
The house that Dawson had built with his father looked exactly the same on the front as it did when it was mine, but the inside was so much different, and I was so thankful. I highly doubted I could have kept it together if the inside of his house had been the same as mine when I was younger.
The walls were mainly bare and painted a soft, grey color. It was all very bachelor pad-ish with modular furniture and it held nothing at all “homey.” I was almost surprised that it wasn’t more girly inside – I had imagined that Breanna would have decorated at least a little, even if she didn’t live here, but I’d guessed wrong.
I was relearning a lot about Dawson and one thing that I’d noticed, point-blank, was that he didn’t let Breanna walk all over him. I got the vibe that he told her what was up and that was that.
Which I liked.
She had been so domineering in high school, and not just with boys. She had told her friends what to wear, how to do their hair, who to be friends with, etc. So, knowing that Dawson didn’t let her dictate his life; that made me happy.
Too happy.
Rounding the corner to the stairs, my feet stopped moving. I wiggled my toes on the soft, nylon carpet and craned my head to the master bedroom, just off to the right.
I swallowed and held my breath, knowing very well that I shouldn’t be eavesdropping like I was currently doing.
Dawson’s voice was flat and irritable, lacking any of the happiness that I’d heard earlier. “I just don’t know, Breanna. I just don’t think it’s fair to you or me.”
My eyes widened. I really, really shouldn’t be listening.
So I went ahead and listened some more, adjusting my body so I was closer to the cracked door.
“I know I said that I wasn’t going to be her friend anymore, but how can you even ask me that? After everything?”
Huh? What does that mean? I wish he’d put it on speakerphone. Like, hello, I’m trying to listen over here!
“Breanna, I just think—” he paused. Why did he pause?
“Fine, we can talk when you get back. I’ll give you that much, but right now, I think you know how I’m feeling. I think we both knew in the beginning, even before all of this blew up that things probably wouldn’t—”