Page 124 of Make Me Dream of You

I’m not tired and yet I’m exhausted.

Time is steady—but each hour grows longer as I lie here awake. Even so, I am hurtled toward morning with frustrating speed. Time slips away along with my chance for respite.

The quiet nighttime noises mock me. What comes for others will not come for me.

I want to sleep. To go away for a while. To forget.

But I can’t forget.

I can’t forget the way her lips tasted, or how her body felt under mine. Or her laugh. Or the way she swirled her fingertips up and down my back to help lull me to sleep. Or the sound of her heart beating as I lay on her chest.

The knock on my office door is fast and light before the door swings open.

I knew I should have locked it.

Taryn walks in, her thick eyeliner giving her eyes that permanently unimpressed look. Her half smirk doesn’t help either.

“What’s up?”

She crosses her arms. “So, you lose Anthony over her, one of the best artists in the shop, and then not even two weeks later, you’re already tired of little Livvy? You dump her and she quits. I hope she was worth it. Doesn’t seem like it.”

I drop the pen in my hand. It hits the metal desk, the ringing echoes around the small space.

Unblinking, I take a deep breath, clenching my fist as I try to unclench my teeth.

Taryn takes an almost unperceivable step backward.

“I didn’t dump her. And I’ll be down another employee if you don’t keep her name out of your mouth.”

“Are you kidding me? Nah. I’m out.”

“There’s the door.”

She’s shocked into silence for probably the first time in her life.

“And to answer your question—yes. She was worth it.”

Wood’s humming “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry while stirring the noodles for his legendary macaroni and cheese.

I’m nursing a bourbon on the rocks, absentmindedly swirling the glass, the clanking of the ice almost hypnotizing.

“You got a text,” Wood says, nodding toward my vibrating phone on the other side of the counter.

I perk up, a burst of bright excitement from somewhere inside of me that still has hope.

“It’s not from her,” he says.

I knew it wouldn’t be, but I’m still disappointed. That high, the split second of dopamine making me feel even worse now that it’s gone in comparison.

“It’s from Bex.”

I roll my eyes as I take a sip of my drink. “What does she want?”

He leans over, stretching so that he can still stir the pot and see my screen. “She’s inviting you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Pass.”

“With her, Macy, Spencer, Jake, and…Livvy.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, his lopsided smile growing with each second I deepen my scowl.

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