Page 81 of Revenge Cake

So, his infidelity was a retaliation too, I guess. Is this how all men do it?

“What happened?”

I jerk at the interruption.

My heart flutters at the sight in front of me.

He came.

He stands at the base of the steps with his hands in his pockets, his hair wet and floppy like he just hopped out of the shower, looking tall and broad and muscular in that tight red…

Oh my god. He’s wearing the T-shirt.

My heart clenches at the sight of that straining red fabric over his broad shoulders, the material barely covering his midriff. He looks ridiculous.

And this will be the last time I see it. That vulnerability I love so much, the willingness to bare himself to ridicule for just the opportunity to make me smile.

I deserve this pain in my chest.

I deserve the hatred that’s about to come.

“Lauren told Brenna everything,” Armaan says.

Logan laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “I told you she would.”

“I know. I never should have let them go to the bathroom together.”

“Is Brenna okay?” Logan asks me, and I bristle at the genuine concern in his eyes.

“What do you care when you did the exact same thing to me? Where was my sympathy on that god-awful night three weeks ago?”

Logan only stares back at me with a pained expression.

Shit. He deserves to feel guilty, but tonight is supposed to be about me owning up to my faults too, not making him hurt worse.

“Alright,” Armaan says. “I really am leaving now.” As he walks past Logan he gives him a hard pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. Not that the odds weren’t already overwhelming stacked against you, but I think I might have squashed your .1% chance of being forgiven.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

“No problem. And good call with the T-shirt. Pity is probably your only viable option at this point, so take full advantage of it.” With that, Armaan turns around and walks away.

I join Logan on the sidewalk. “I see you didn’t bring your guitar,” I say lightly, in an attempt to hide my inner turmoil.

“No,” he says softly. “I realized in the nick of time that embarrassing you into talking to me was…” he squints, as if searching for the right word, “borderline psychotic.”

Even in my agony, I can’t help but smile.

“I mean, to give myself credit, it was pretty innovative. But psychotic nonetheless.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I still wanted to do something for you. You know, to make amends—”

He cuts off when I wince at the word. He really means it, whereas I used it like a curse.

“To make amends for everything I put you through. So I decided I’m going to do two things for you. And they’re going to sound really small. So before you hear them, keep in mind that I’m madly in love with you, and it’s going to fucking kill me to do either of them, especially the first one.”

My throat grows tight. I give him a slight nod so he’ll continue.

“Number one, I’m going to stay away from you.”

I want to protest, but I keep my mouth closed.

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