Page 33 of What if I Told You

“Let me ask you something. Because honestly I’m curious.”

“Okay.”

“This morning when she came out into the kitchen, the bra and panties…did they match?”

My head snaps to Griffin again. “Seriously Griff? I just insulted my best friend and you want to know if her underwear matched?”

His face remains stoic as he nods again. “Yes. Did it?”

I think back to what she had on. “Yeah. Black lacey bra and matching panties.”

Griffin tosses a glance at Harrison and Oliver who both nod in agreement.

“What?” I ask, exasperated. “What they fuck does the color of her underwear have to do with anything?”

“It’s not the color, August,” Harrison explains. “It’s that they matched. She wanted you to see them.”

I roll my eyes at their ridiculousness. “What are you guys even talking about?”

“August, trust me when I say this,” Oliver whispers, “girls don’t usually care about matching their undergarments unless they want someone to notice.”

“She said they made her feel pretty.”

“Right.” He nods. “And she wanted you to see them.”

I shake my head. “That’s insane. I’ve told you guys a hundred times Ella and I aren’t like that. There’s nothing there between us. There never has been and?—”

Griffin raises his finger to stop me. “Don’t say there never will be because from the look on her face just now, one of you doesn’t have the same feelings as the other.”

I fall back against the couch cushion completely flabbergasted at what the guys are trying to tell me.

“How can this be? She’s never…

“We’ve never…

“We’ve always just…”

My shoulders fall as I release an overwhelming sigh. “Guys, tell me what to do. Should I go in there?”

Ledger shrugs. “Give her some time and then maybe check on her. We’ll get out of here in case she needs to cry it out so she’s not embarrassed.”

“But at some point,” Bear stands from his chair, “you’ll have to get your shit together and figure out your feelings.”

My brows remain furrowed as I say goodbye to the guys and lock the door behind them. I turn, staring at the living room, replaying the last twenty minutes in my mind about a thousand times, and experiencing the clusterfuck of emotions I did not see coming over and over again. I have no clue how I should manage this situation. I stand in front of Ella’s door for what feels like hours trying to come up with the right words to say because I want to apologize but everything I consider saying sounds lame and stupid. Eventually I muster up the courage to knock softly on her door.

“Ella? You awake?”

She doesn’t answer me. Instead of knocking again and risk waking her, I lay my palm against her door and then rest my forehead there as well, closing my eyes and inhaling a steady breath.

“I’m sorry, Ella,” I whisper against the white wood. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

ELLA

“It’s not like her tits were going to turn me on anyway. She’s not some smoking hot puck bunny. She’s just Ella.”

“Just Ella,” I whisper to myself when I step inside my ensuite bathroom and stare into the mirror. The lifeless face staring back at me pisses me off and depresses me at the same time. My eyes are red and my mascara is now running down my already splotchy cheeks. For as hot as I thought I was looking earlier, now all I see is a hot mess of emotional shit. I pull a tissue from the box on the counter and blow my nose quietly, refusing to allow August to hear me crying.

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