Page 34 of What if I Told You

I shouldn’t care what he thinks.

I’m a confident, smart, kind human being and I am proud of the person I am.

But when my best friend announces to a room full of breathtakingly gorgeous professional hockey players that I am, indeed, ordinary, unattractive, and just…Ella…yeah, that stung a little more than I was ready for.

So, there it is.

After all these years of friendship, I finally know what August Blackstone really thinks of me. “I’m crazy enough to love but not at all pretty enough to fuck.”

And now there is most likely a room of professional athletes sitting out in my living room discussing just how unattractive I am and how I’m a nice girl but it would never be good enough for any of them.

Fucking August.

He was supposed to be my biggest supporter, not the one who would tear me down. And especially not in front of new colleagues.

I love August. I do.

He’s been my very best friend. My person. The one I run to when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m pissed off, and when I’m depressed. But when he becomes the cause of all those feelings, when he’s the one person to say something so cold and hurtful, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt more alone than I do right now.

Slipping down to the floor of the bathroom, I curl my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs and allow myself to cry out my feelings.

It's dark outside when I hear August knock on my door.

“Ella? You awake?”

Yeah, I am.

But I don’t want to talk to you.

That’s a lie.

What I want is for this evening to have never happened.

What I want is to swing open my door and laugh with you over some stupid movie.

What I want is for you to tell me I’m fucking sexy and actually mean it.

I remain still and stare at my door from my bed where I’m seated with my favorite Amy Daws book praying he doesn’t turn the knob and barge right in. When he doesn’t, I inhale a deep breath and release it slowly, inwardly thanking him for realizing I need a hot minute away from him to process all my feelings.

What I want is for you to tell me my tits are the prettiest mounds of flesh you’ve ever seen.

I twist my lips and narrow my eyes at my last thought because when have I ever wanted August Blackstone to say anything whatsoever about my tits?

That’s a big never.

I mean I’ve asked him plenty of times over the years if my boobs look okay in a particular outfit and he’s always chuckled and shaken his head and said yes.

But tonight was different.

It wasn’t just about my chest or lack thereof. For him to blatantly tell other people that I’m not a turn-on…

Ugh.

Why?

Why August?

Why did you have to be such a thoughtless asshole?

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