Page 136 of Can't Always Get What You Want

I stare blankly at the refrigerator’s contents, then shut it again without grabbing anything. My appetite’s gone, shredded into the same microscopic pulp as my dignity.

“You sure you’re alright?” Another beat goes by and Skaggs asks, “I can come home if you want to hang.”

I don’t want to hang!

I want to be alone to stew in my own miserable thoughts.

“No,” I clear my throat to keep my voice even. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Like a loser.

“I can crash at Marlow’s,” Skaggs offers. “Give you space if you need it.”

I walk to the living room, flopping down on the couch. Drag a hand through my hair. “Nah, it’s your place too.”

He pays his fair share of my mortgage and utilities, and I’ve never put any rules in place for either of my roommates, which explains this pain in the ass of a dog that has no boundaries.

He’s the rudest roommate I have.

“You sure?”

I lean my head back against the cushion, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m sure. Just a rough night.”

Skaggs hesitates before offering one more time. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

YES. I AM SURE!

Although it wouldn’t be the worst idea to talk to someone about this fucked up situation I’m in. What started as something innocent became something more and now I’m in a weird, fucked-up love triangle where the object of my scorn is my teammate.

My roommate doesn’t know about Nova. Now is not the time to mention her name.

So I say, “Nah. I appreciate the offer, though. Adrenaline dump after the game, I guess.”

He doesn’t buy it.

We won the game, how could I be depressed?

Endorphins make you happy!

“Alright,” he says finally. “Well if you change your mind, you know where I’m at. Don’t keep your shit bottled up.”

That makes me chuckle. “You’re good people, Skaggs—no matter what anyone says about you.”

“Thanks man, I—” He stops. “Wait. What are people saying about me?”

“Night, Skaggs.”

“God dammit, Babi. What are people saying about m?—”

I end the call and toss my cell on the coffee table. Then I sit in silence.

The house is too quiet. The couch too cold. And even though I told him not to come home, a small part of me wishes he would. Just so I wouldn’t have to sit here in the ruins of something I let myself believe could be real.

I lean forward, elbows on knees, and stare at the floor.

Still not hungry.

Still not okay.

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