Page 142 of My Rules

“Sure, why not.” I fake a smile because, let’s be honest, I’m not teaching this class anything today.

They’re on their own.

I lie on my couch and stare at the television. It’s late. Past 9:00 p.m., and I should be getting ready for bed to try and get a good night’s sleep. Lord knows I haven’t slept in the three days since I told Blake I didn’t want to be friends anymore.

I’m flat.

Flatter than I’ve been in a long time.

And it’s weird because I had a very successful week. John called, and the documents are here. Tomorrow I’m meeting him, and he’s signing the house over to me. Another one of my images went viral. Of course, it’s from the same lot that Blake took at the wedding with the icing, but anyway, I made an extra $3,000.

This is a time for celebration. I’m getting everything I ever wanted.

I’m financially stable, the house is being signed over into my name, and yet all I feel is empty. All because I told Blake I don’t want to be his friend anymore.

I miss him already.

I get a lump in my throat as I think about life without him in it. It’s not something that I can even comprehend. Until this happened, I didn’t realize how much I depend on him. He was there to pick me up after John. In fact, he has been there to pick me up every day for the last year. He’s been such a supportive, wonderful friend, and the first little hiccup we have on a double date, I tell him I don’t want to be friends at all.

What kind of ungrateful, selfish witch does that?

I need to make this right.

I’m just going to text him and say sorry. I know that I probably broke something between us, but I feel like he broke it first.

At least texting will clear my conscience, and we can hopefully move past this and carry on as friends.

I take out my phone and think about what I should text him. Hmm, do I apologize, or do I just act like normal?

No, I just have to apologize. I text him.

Hi Blake.

I’m sorry for our fight.

I didn’t mean what I said.

My phone instantly rings, and the name Blake lights up the screen. Shit.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Hi, Bec.” His voice is soft and cajoling.

“Sorry to text so late,” I say.

“It’s okay. I was lying here in bed thinking about texting you anyway.” I get a vision of him lying in the dark in his hotel room.

We both hang on the line. The silence between us is deafening. A million words that I want to say but just never seem appropriate.

“Blake?”

“Yeah,” he replies softly.

“What would have happened if I gave you my number?”

He thinks for a moment. “You mean when I said before that if we met under different circumstances, I would have asked for your number?”

“Yes. If you asked for my number and I gave it to you, what would have happened?”

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