Page 90 of I Just Want to be Yours

Blowing out a breath, I shake my head. “No idea. I didn’t think she’d go for it, but she did. And ever since, I’ve worked hard to never give her a reason to doubt that decision.”

Mya’s eyes widen. “But the pictures with Tarah.”

Pressing my lips together, I nod. “But the pictures with Tarah.”

“Shit.” The sharp word bites through the air around us. “That bitch.”

Something between a huff and a laugh leaves me. I guess this is why I always end up spilling my secrets to Mya. It feels good to have someone on my side.

She gasps. “She doesn’t think you cheated on her, does she?”

I weigh my head from side to side. “I don’t think so, but either way, there are cracks in the foundation now. I need to call her.”

“Call her.”

I let out a laugh. “Not in the fucking RV.”

Mya looks around like she forgot we were traveling in tight quarters with four other guys. “Where’s our next stop? Austin?”

“Yup.”

“Call her then.”

As much as I get a kick out of Mya’s urgency, I can’t help feeling a sense of dread. “Yeah,” I say, wiping my hand over my mouth as I try to shake the feeling. “That’s the plan.”

52

margot

Karah pokesher head into my office. “You’re still here?”

“Yeah.” I let out a sigh, barely glancing at her from my computer screen before my fingers keep moving over the keys. “I’m still here.”

“Hmm.”

I have no idea what type of connotation comes with that sound, but I have a feeling her “hmm” isn’t a celebration of how hard I’m working. Forcing a breath, I push back from my desk and turn my chair to look at her. “Heading home?”

“Yes,” she says with a slow nod. “That’s what people do after . . .” She glances down at her watch. “Almost ten hours.”

“I know. I’ll go home soon. I just want to finish up this piece on the farmer’s market.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You mean the one due next week?”

“Yeah. I really like my angle with it, but you’ll have to let me know what you think.”

She crosses her arms and leans against the doorway. “I can already tell you it’s great. All your work has been great thisweek. Ahead of schedule, thorough, unique, and polished. You’ve barely had any revisions since the bookstore—which was phenomenal. Just . . .” She eyes me with concern. “Take care of yourself.”

I nod. “Don’t worry. I am.”

“Okay,” she says, but the tone of caution still lingers. “Lock up when you leave, okay?”

“Will do. Have a good night, Karah.”

She gives me a tight-lipped smile like she’d like to say more, but I don’t care. I know I’ve been working too much. In the span of the last week, I’ve become a full-blown workaholic with insomnia. Going home just means I’ll be left to my own devices, and all I do is make myself miserable. Everything at my apartment—including most of the people—reminds me of Jackson. If Rae is home, it’s a little easier to breathe, but I hate being there alone. I end up sitting on the couch and stalking the band’s social media account and searching hashtags. Jackson has his own account, but he never posts. I think his last upload is from when he was still in high school, so the only way to get up-to-date onanythingis through the band’s page.

Well, that or I could just talk to him, but that’s been painful, too. The texts that used to light up my day now add to the increasing pressure in my chest. Everything feels like a lie. Not necessarily on his end, but on mine. It feels like a lie to go back to talking the way we were before even though I’m still affected by what happened. It feels like a lie to ask him about his day when all I really care about is the night before. It feels like a lie to flirt with him when all I do is wonder who else might have whispered those things in his ear lately.

It feels like a lie to love him. A lie to laugh with him. And a lie to act like I’m not doubting everything.

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