Page 30 of Exes and O's

Brandon (world traveler—the one that got away)

Linus (Brandon rebound)

Mark (book club intellectual)

Seth (ex-fiancé)

chapter eleven

IT WAS SOclose. He was so close to being perfect.” I pace frantically in the empty space between the living room and the kitchen, replaying the night with Brandon. In the end, we parted ways amicably. He forcefully insisted on paying the bill out of pure pity before leaving me with a lackluster kiss to the forehead.

Trevor cringes at me from the stool at the island. “Stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy. And I think the best course of action here is to put the teddy bear away and go to bed.” Why is he so responsible?

My pacing quickens, as well as my grip on the stuffed teddy bear Brandon bought for me so many Valentine’s Days ago. “Nah. I’d prefer to overanalyze and pinpoint the moment it all went up in flames. For future reference. So I don’t keep messing things up.”

A hint of a smile plays across his lips. “I have been known to put out a flame or two. Anything I can do to help?”

I’m touched by the offer, but at this point, I’ve already dug my own grave halfway to the earth’s core. “Not unless you can turn back time.”

He stands from the stool. “I may have something.”

“Do you have some sort of secret time-traveling wardrobe?” I ask hopefully, following him into the hallway.

“Obviously. Doesn’t everyone?”

I’m puzzled when he stops outside my bedroom door and points to the mess of clothes on the floor. “If you’re about to try to convince me that cleaning is therapeutic, I might punch—”

“Be quiet and put your bathing suit on,” he orders before disappearing into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

“My bathing suit?” I call.

“Yup.”

I blink, dumbfounded. “Is this some weird sexual ploy? Are you trying to hook up with me right now?”

He makes atsksound, like the idea is absurd. “God, no.”

I’m too busy freaking the hell out about wearing a swimsuit in front of another human being, let alone a ridiculously attractive human being with the body of a god. Insecurities aside, my curiosity has spiked, so I swallow my pride and throw on my trusty floral one-piece and fluffy bathrobe.

Trevor is waiting at the front door when I emerge, clad in navy-blue swim trunks, a black T-shirt, and... army-green Crocs.

It takes all my willpower to resist laughing and pointing like a child, and he can tell, based on his death glare. He’s silently daring me to comment, and of course, I do.

“I didn’t take you for a puttering-around-in-Crocs kinda guy,” I say, following him out the door.

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