Page 84 of Catching Sparks

Instead, I grab my phone from the pocket of my robe and pull up Garrison’s number. The dial tone rings in my ear five times before his voice sounds.

“This is Garrison Beckett. If you need urgent assistance, contact my assistant. Thank you.”

The loud beep that follows makes me flinch. I try again and get greeted by the same recording. In theory, I know that he’s probably sleeping on his day off work, but after last night, I’m on edge, overthinking every damn thing there is to overthink.

It’s not a coincidence that Garrison knew all about my shitty washing machine and also happens to have a friend named Nathan. That much I know. But why wouldn’t he just tell me he got me a new one? What’s with the surprise? I probably would have turned him down at first just to be polite, but I’d fold quickly after that.

I’m not one to turn down free things, especially if they’re offered to me by hot men, no matter how much they cost. Garrison can spoil me all he wants. Maybe I’d even call him Daddy once or twice as payment.

I hang up the call, opting out of leaving a voicemail, and open our text chain instead. It’s barren, only a handful of messages exchanged between us.

Me: Thank you for the washer and dryer.

It’s short, sweet, and to the point without making me appear unbothered by what happened last night.

And with that reassurance, I put my phone away and pluck my toothbrush out of its holder before starting to clean myself up. I’m not about to let Garrison drive me into a depressive state. He hasn’t earned that power over me.

“He just left? Like that?” Bryce asks, balancing an entire jug of pink lemonade on her lap. She’s been swigging from it like a complete neanderthal since the girls got here for lunch, but if it makes her happy . . .

Anna tuts her tongue. “Obviously, he’s not ready to admit his feelings to himself.”

“What a surprise, another man who’s incapable of dealing with his emotions,” Bryce mutters in mock surprise.

I stretch my neck and lean against the back of the couch, feeling weighed down. “Every day, I feel like you hate men more and more.”

She shrugs and pops an all-dressed chip in her mouth. “If the shoe fits.”

“When’s the last time you dated a man, Ice?” Anna asks.

“High school. If I wasn’t so attracted to corded forearms and beard burn, I would have no use for them at all, but alas, we all have our weaknesses.”

Anna hums in understanding. “Are women that much better? I know that sounds silly to ask, but I’m curious.”

“You’ve got a man that puts both men and women to shame, Anna,” Bryce answers. Anna waves her off, blushing slightly.

Bryce is open with her bisexuality, and I’ve asked her similar questions from the moment she came out to me in eleventh grade. You can’t help but be curious, especially when there aren’t many other openly bisexual people in a town this size.

She cocks her head, expression turning serious. “There’s no right answer to that question. It’s all dependant on what you like. Me, personally, I prefer dating women because they’re easier to talk to. We can build a deeper relationship—a friendship—before feeling like we have to move further. I like going at my own pace, whether that’s one date and then we’re going home together or if it takes me ten dates to kiss them.

“My experience dating men has been nothing short of terrible. Some of the time, I simply prefer the respect I get from women. My ex turned out to be a wicked bitch, though, so maybe I’m not the person to give proper answers. I don’t think two bisexual women would share the exact same preferences or experience if you went up to them and asked.”

Once she’s finished, she turns her sharp blue eyes on me, narrowing them. I gulp.

“Garrison doesn’t even have facial hair, so beard burn clearly isn’t an option for you. What is it that has you so tangled up about this guy? Other than his inability to communicate, of course.”

“He’s sickeningly good-looking,” Anna offers, flashing me a sympathetic smile.

Bryce rolls her eyes. “Of course he is. I think that counts as a negative more so than a positive.”

I hold up a hand. “It doesn’t matter how many negatives or positives he has. I’m into him, and I’ve known from the first time we met that he wasn’t going to be perfect. It’s completely my fault that I’m in this mess, but that doesn’t change the truth.” Fidgeting, I reach for Bryce’s lemonade and twist off the cap before lifting it to my mouth, desperate for something to soothe my dry throat. Three gulps later, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You have to rip the Band-Aid off. Give him one more chance to be honest with you about what he truly feels and wants, and if he still can’t, then kick his ass to the curb,” Anna says, reaching across the couch to lay a supportive hand on my knee. “Sometimes a man needs a bit of encouragement to admit what he’s too afraid to.”

“I think I’ve already given him that chance,” I admit, thinking back on the text message that came in seconds before Bryce and Anna arrived.

My gut churns at the reminder.

They were nothing. Don’t search for a meaning that isn’t there.

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