Page 12 of Between the Lines

Because I had it wrong? It wasn’t about beingmore than friends, it was really about us beingmore than lovers—sex was the easy part; that actual connection was the part that hurt.

The possibility of losing it.

It loomedsooooheavy over us.

Or maybe just me.

Since the breakup, he and I had spoken on several occasions, because we’d truly wanted to still make it work as friends. Wechecked in with each other, solicited thoughts on auditions, lamented roles we didn’t get. The startup was usually awkward, but I’d thought we were finding our groove again in friendship.

Or maybe I was just deluding myself, and all this meant more to me than it did to him.

Otherwise, why would he have a date? One he was clearlyhellacomfy with, barely six months after our breakup? And better still, why wouldn’t he tell me—warn me—he was bringing someone?

Why was he with someone?

“Kiss my ass,” I tossed over my shoulder, avoiding his attempt at a hug as I moved around him.

He caught up quickly though, grabbing my hand.

“Ellie, what’s wrong? Did I do something?”

He doesn’t even get it.

I shook my head, snatching away from me. “Don’t fucking talk to me. Okay?”

He was shocked.

It was written all over his face.

But, he couldn’t respond.

Wherever everyone had gone to allow us that moment in an empty hall, they were back now, and making a scene wasn’t something either of us were about to do.

I made my way back to the table with Logan and Pierre, and immediately ordered another drink—the one that alarmed Pierre’s sober sensibilities. I finished it but didn’t get another, more out of respect for him and his potential triggers than any concern for myself.

It turned out that he was right though, considering I’d lostallof that until now.

Or more accurately—I’d blocked it out.

With good reason.

Even though it was months ago, my chest ached like I was reliving that night, where what should’ve been one of my happiest was actually one of my worst. I flipped the covers back, going into the bathroom to wet a towel with cold water for my face.

I hadn’t been crying, but it felt like I had.

Felt like I still might, actually, and I didn’t want that.

I’d promised myself no more tears about the breakup, and I’d managed to adhere to that for months now, even through the awkwardness of keeping in touch with Shaw, preserving the friendship.

Which…shit.

It was even more awkward than I’d thought.

What had to have gone through his mind the first time I texted him like everything was completely normal, a few weeks after the awards? And then a few months after that, when news of his superhero movie—which wasmajor—had broken, and I texted to offer my congrats. Or any of the random minutiae in between.

He had to think I was a crazy person.

He responded though.

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