“If Cade is telling everyone what a great date we had last night, then he’s not necessarily being discreet,” I say wryly.
“Then maybe you should’ve said something to him last night so he didn’t get the wrong idea,” Lena retorts.
She starts to walk away, like our conversation is finished, and I follow after her. “Wait a minute, are you mad at me for something?”
Lena turns, her eyes blazing. “If you don’t want him, you should let him know. Not lead him on.”
I take a step back. “I’m not leading Cade on.”
“You so are. You’re being incredibly selfish right now, Amanda. Cade’s already halfway in love with you, but some other guy is sending you expensive flowers. It’s making you look…” She clamps her lips shut and shakes her head.
“It’s making me look what?”
Lena’s upper lip curls. “Trashy.”
And with that nicely dropped bomb, she walks away.
Amanda said I should arrive after five at her work, but fuck it. It’s 4:48, I’m already here and I’m walking inside.
The moment I enter the lobby, the receptionist sitting at the front desk stares at me with wide eyes, and rises unsteadily to her feet. “Aren’t you Jordan Tuttle?” She breathes my name like a prayer.
I nod as I approach her desk, then lean against it, wondering if I should smile. I decide against it. “That’s my name.”
Her hand goes over her heart, like she’s ready to say the Pledge of Allegiance. “Please tell me you’re not injured.”
“I’m not.”
She breathes a sigh of relief, shaking her head. “Oh, thank God. How can I help you?”
“I’m guessing you’re a Niners fan?” I lift my brows, tilt my head in her direction.
She nods, her eyes still wide and a little wild, her lips clamped shut, like she can’t even speak. I tend to do that to people, render them speechless, and I don’t mean to. It’s why I say so little.
No one can hold your words against you if you don’t say much.
“I’m looking for Amanda Winters,” I tell the receptionist.
Her eyes are somehow even wider. “You are?”
“Yes, I am,” I say slowly. “She works here, right?”
“Amanda? Yes!” She blinks. “Of course she does! Let me see if I can find her.”
The receptionist bustles away before I can say another word.
I wander around the lobby, looking at the photos on the wall. A group photo of what I assume are the Atlas Wellness Center employees, everyone posing in their red polos. I squint as I study the photo, searching for Amanda, and I finally find her. Second to the last row, on the far right. Her face is scrunched, like the sun is too bright and her eyes are narrow slits, her nose wrinkled, though there’s a smile on her face. She looks cute.
When was the photo taken? During a time when I didn’t really know her, didn’t talk to her. It hurts to realize that, not that I’d ever tell her. But it’s kind of mind blowing, how we’ve gone for years without talking to each other. She went from being the most important person in my life to never seeing her again, just like that.
It took me a while to recover. I swear I fell into a depression, and those who knew me blamed it on g
oing away to college. The readjustment to my life, the constant pressure I was under. That all made sense, so I didn’t protest. No one would have believed me if I told them I was heartsick.
So I kept my opinions—and feelings—to myself.
The receptionist is back, Amanda trailing behind her. My ex-girlfriend stops in her tracks, blinking repeatedly as she studies me. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you I’d be here at five,” I remind her. It’s a shock to my system every time I see Amanda, each time I hear her voice. Having her in front of me makes me instantly crave more. More looking, more talking, more touching…