Page 49 of Scoring with my Bestie's Ex

Maybe we didn’t have the right person?

Or maybe it was because neither of us went for the right reasons?

Either way, the idea of doing all the work and spending the time finding a counselor only to have a repeat performance?

No. I can’t do that.

I send a message to Aaron. Sorry about that.

But even after I brush my teeth and braid my hair, it’s still unread.

My stomach ties itself into knots. Have I just ruined everything?

Chapter eighteen

Aaron

Bella yawns, and I pass her a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” she mutters, leaning back in her chair.

I watch her worriedly. Though I appreciate the help she’s providing with the Castleton charity, considering how busy she is with her own commitments, I worry she’s stretching herself too thin.

“Have you been sleeping?” I ask, frowning at the dark circles beneath her eyes.

She waves her hand dismissively. “The dance and Imogen’s show are only a week away. I can sleep afterward.”

“You need sleep now, too, though.”

She gives me a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

I nod, though I don’t fully trust her words.

All the same, it’s important to me that I maintain my own personal boundaries—which means I will take her at her word.

“I was thinking, if you wanted, we could get some of your designs into the charity dance, too,” I say, folding my hands on the table.

Her eyes widen over the rim of the cup. “Um, what?”

“If you make the clothes, I’ll have people wear them,” I say.

She puts the cup down. “Uhhh… nope. Not happening. Great of you to suggest but no way.”

I’m surprised at how emphatic she is about this. “Why not? With all the high-profile guests, we’ll have reporters. It’s a way to get your name out there.”

“Because this is for Castleton, not me,” she bluffs, her cheeks going red.

Hmm. How far does this “take her at her word” thing go? Because it’s obvious she’s not telling me the full truth here. I wrap my hand around her coffee, stopping her from drinking more.

“You putting some of your designs into play isn’t going to take away from Castleton.” I study her. “Is this one of those false modesty situations?”

“No, it’s one of those imposter syndrome situations. Let go of my coffee,” she complains.

I release the cup, but she doesn’t drink.

“What do you mean, imposter syndrome?” I ask.

Bella claps her hands to either side of her face and groans. “It’s like this. I know I can design. I know that they’re decent, too.”

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