Page 57 of Blindside Love

“Have you heard from your parents?” she asks quietly. She’s been around my entire life, so she’s well versed in the drama surrounding my parents and our relationship.

“I couldn’t tell you. I put both of them on Do Not Disturb, so I haven’t seen if they’ve messaged me in quite some time.”

I’ve been curious, almost tempted to look, but I’ve just been too nervous.

“Let’s look. You know I’m curious as hell,” Natalie whines, holding her hand out, waiting for my phone.

I give it to her, and she finds their messages, her eyes widening.

“Your mom is a grade-A asshole,” Natalie announces, closing my phone. “I honestly can’t believe she believes that you cheated and then left. She said that you should crawl back to him. Get a grip, lady.”

It hurts knowing she believes that, but I learned a long time ago that my mother and I don’t see eye to eye on most things in life. What hurts worse is that I know my father is too weak to stand up for me, even if he probably wants to.

“So, about that dancing, let’s go the next time Addy is at Tom’s. I want a night out. Drinks on me.”

“Yes!” I fist pump, excited to get out and dance again. Tom hated dancing and hated the idea of people seeing me dance ‘like a tramp,’ so he basically forbade me from going out.

So now I want to go out in the skimpiest clothes possible and dance until my feet hurt. I want to feel a man’s eyes on me, although I’d prefer them to be a particular shade of emerald.

“Okay, now that I’ve got you liquored up and fed… spill—I want all the tea,” Natalie says, licking the salt from her margarita before taking a long drink. “And I want it hot,” she purrs.

“We made dinner. It was delicious. Then he built me bookshelves. The end,” I deadpan, doing my best not to laugh because she’ll probably stab me with a fork if I don’t elaborate.

“I asked you how your dinner went, and you sent me a string of emojis as an explanation. A winky face, an eggplant, a belt, and stars do not equal an explanation.”

“I think it makes perfect sense. It explains the evening perfectly. And the next morning.” I shrug, reaching out to grab a chip but Natalie slaps my hand away.

“No. No food for you until you talk.”

Leaning back against her chair, she folds her arms and does her best death stare, and honestly, I’m nervous for her future children because her looks are brutal.

I wanted to make her wait a little longer and make her sweat a bit because it’s fun to watch her get riled up, but I don’t want to deal with grumpy Natalie. She hates not knowing things; it’s both her red and green flag because she’s supportive as hell but also the nosiest person I know.

“Honestly, it was a fun night. We cooked. We kissed. He helped me build bookshelves. When we were moving them into the studio, he might’ve seen my collection of books, so we talked about them for a bit.”

Natalie’s eyes are wide with shock, her mouth is opening and closing like she’s trying to talk. If she had a reset button, I’d press it. Instead, I just have to wait for her mouth to catch up with her brain.

“First off, you can’t just casually throw in that you guys kissed in the middle of your cooking and dinner talk, then tell me you let him see your studio? Ellie… you don’t let anyone into your studio; you do realize that, right?”

“That’s not true,” I glower.

“Is too. It took me two years of convincing you to let me in when you first started painting, but he gets to see it in a matter of weeks. Either you’ve suddenly become way more confident—as you should because you’re a fucking queen—or you trust this guy more than you realize.”

Did I really hide my studio away from everyone? I do remember Tom was pissed when I told him I wanted to be the only one in there. I mean, if he can tell me not to go into his office, why can’t I do the same? But I don’t remember being that secretive with other people, at least not Natalie.

But I haven’t even shown Betty, so maybe she has a point. I’m not exactly the most confident about my work; in fact, I’m usually pretty shy about it. But it felt so easy to bring Trevor into the room and let him into my world for a bit. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like him there.

“Maybe.”

That's all I’ve got. She could be right; she could be wrong.

“Maybe what?” Natalie nags.

“Maybe you’re right,” I elaborate, just enough to annoy her more.

What? It’s my favorite pastime. Her cheeks get all red when she’s pissy; and it’s adorable and funny.

“Ellie Marie,” Natalie growls, bringing out the big guns. Whenever she’s really mad at someone, she makes their middle name Marie, regardless of what it actually is; it’s her way of scolding. “I swear to god, if you don’t spill, I’m going to lose my damn mind.”

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