“But you need coffee formeeeee,” I say, more dramatic than I need to be. But hell, I need to be.
“Tell you what. I’ll splurge and take you out for a coffee on the way to class. How’s that?” she asks.
“I can’t let you do that. The fact you offered,though, is proof I don’t deserve you.” I drag my hands through my hair, exasperated.
She comes up behind me. Rubs my shoulder. “Hello? Earth to Brooke. Coffee is not cause for drama. I may be broke, but I can afford a coffee. But maybe it’s not coffee you want?”
I want to go back in time to Sunday and not give Drew my number. Then I wouldn’t be wondering why I haven’t heard from him.
Not a single text since he left my home. Since we made a date for tonight. His silence wouldn’t be a problem except that on Monday, my boss told me he needed me to attend this charity event that went until seven p.m.
I texted Drew asking to meet me later than we’d planned, but he never replied. That was three days ago. We’re supposed to meettonight.
He’s ghosted me, I know it.
Why, universe, why did he keep up the ruse all of Sunday night?
Oh, right. He wanted to get laid.
I take a deep breath.Breathe in. Breathe out. Let go of my frustration.“I think I woke up on the wrong side of the week,” I tell my sister.
“It’s that guy, right?” Cara asks as she grabs her phone from the counter and tucks it into the back pocket of her skinny jeans.
I look at her in surprise. I’m that obvious? “How did you know that was why I was annoyed?”
She laughs knowingly. “Because the second he left the other night, you called to tell me what an amazing time you had.”
Of course, I’m that obvious. Like a starry-eyed teen, I gushed about Drew. So much for the tough girl routine I try to foster at work. Outside of the office, one fantastic night turned me into a marshmallow.
My throat tightens with a stupid lump. “I feel so foolish. I was so sure we’d have a second date. And I wanted that,” I say, a sob threatening my composure. “After the work thing and everything…”
But I press the brakes. I don’t want to indulge in a pity party over a man I had a one-night stand with.
I’m here this morning for Cara—to drive her to class on my way to work since her car is in the shop. She’s finishing her master’s degree to become a special education teacher, and I couldn’t be prouder of my little sister.
I swallow the threat of tears and raise my chin. “Forget it. It’s no biggie. Tell me more about what classes you have today,” I say as we walk to the door.
She tugs gently on my hair, something she always did when she was little. “I will, but I can’t thank you enough for driving me. My car is asking for a knuckle sandwich these days.” She holds up her fist to demonstrate what she wants to do to her little Honda.
“You’re not that far from me, and your class is onmy way in.” I like helping her, and the reality is, I’m her third parent.
We head down the steps of her building and slide into my car, then pull into sluggish morning traffic. But we don’t have far to go—just a couple miles.
As I slow at a light, I hear Cara hum to herself, something brewing in her big brain. That’s my sister—always thinking. Revisiting. Trying again.
With a laugh, I say, “Spit it out.”
She screws up the corner of her lips, then looks at me, her blue eyes intense. “Youcouldcall him.”
I answer with a scoff.
“You could, Brooke,” she insists.
“I’m not going to chase a guy who doesn’t want to be chased,” I say as the light changes and I hit the gas.
I still can’t believe I misread Drew Adams so badly. But he played me, and that’s just part of modern dating.
Ever the optimist, Cara goes on, “Maybe something legit happened. You really liked him, and you guys had a good connection. You’re a confident, single woman, and you don’t need to wait for a man to call you or respond to a text. There could be a simple explanation for him not answering your text.” She snaps her fingers. “Like he dropped his phone in the shower.”