Page 115 of Crazy for this Girl

“What happened to your business degree you said you busted your ass with?” I solicit. “Are you running that flower shop with your aunt?”

“No.”

“Temporary thing?”

“No.”

I step closer because her cute one-word answers are starting to piss me off now that I’ve got emails up the ass to my private investigator about finding out if River is my child. Catch me on another day, I wouldn’t give a fuck if she gave me letters for answers, but I’m not in the mood for bullshit.

“Have a good night, Laynee.” I move, allowing her the path she was just on because speaking to her face-to-face isn’t going to be happening with her severe attitude toward me.

“Cal?” Her voice is barely audible over the music, but when I turn around, she’s the teenage Laynee I remembered and loved. Fidgeting with her fingers nervously, because she’s either afraid to say something or of how I’m going to react.

Sometimes she’d bite the inside of her bottom lip, coaxing me to pull it out from between her teeth with the pad of my thumb.

It was always in her head.

I could get mad at Laynee, but nothing was ever going to change the way I felt about her. She could run me into the ground, step all over me, call me every name in the book, and I’d still be in love with her.

“Why did you disappear? What made you change your mind?” My defense goes up because out loud, the reason doesn’t sound like a good enough excuse. And by the time she got tired of waiting around for me, I knew I had lost her. There was no going back to what we used to be. I’d only be an old acquaintance and nothing more.

I couldn’t deal with that.

However, I could never stop knowing how she was.

I only stalked her Instagram a few times, except she doesn’t keep up on it much. It was enough to find out about Oliver, though.

“I never changed my mind about you,” I reply. “You were my number one, my best friend, and my future.”

Her brows clash together. “That makes no sense.”

“It would if you gave me two minutes.”

Her blues pull from me, knowing that she either has to let down some of her pride or live without ever knowing what happened to me.

And whether I think it’ll matter or not, she has a right to know. I’m just not sure I can talk all the parts out. The outline I can give, but the details and torment that haunt me aren’t easy for me.

“What do you want me to say?” I question. “I’m trying to make up for how shit went down. You won’t allow me to do that without speaking more than three sentences, if I’m lucky.”

“I guess it really doesn’t matter anymore. Why hash out open old wounds? This—” She waves a dismissive hand between us, and I mindlessly seize it, holding onto her like a fucking lifeline.

I can’t let her go again.

I can’t let her in either.

Everything about me screams disappointment. I’m not the fun-loving kid I used to be, but exactly what I’m sure Laynee has made me up in her head.

I’m an asshole.

It’s a pretty universal term, but it fits me to a T it seems. I pushed her away because of things I didn’t want to talk about, but couldn’t allow her to fully leave me either.

Selfish.

I’ve always been a selfish prick when it came to her. And I didn’t plan on stopping any time soon either.

“I trusted you then,” I tell her, leaning closer so she can hear me over the bass of the music currently playing. “And I trust you now. I just don’t trust myself.” Her features soften against mine that I can feel hardening.

Releasing her, I don’t move from the close-ranged distance between us. She can leave, but I’m not. I won’t again unless she locks the door to her heart and mind to keep me out, where there’s no way I can ever get in.

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