Page 39 of Riptide

“You’ve already established you won’t give me details...” He waves a hand. “Figured you finally letting someone in past the ‘do not disturb’ sign you got nailed to your personality might loosen you up.”

I scowl, but I don’t argue. Because he’s right; I was kinda hoping that too. I guess not.

Eugene watches me carefully, his expression shifting from amused to assessing. “So what, then? He not what you expected?”

I release a slow breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “Something like that.”

Eugene hums as he leans against the counter. “And now you look like you swallowed a bad egg over it.”

I scoff. “I do not.” I try to school my sour expression, but it’s useless.

“So what happened? Did he piss you off?”

Rubbing a hand down my face, I lean back in my chair. “It doesn’t matter.”

Eugene watches me for a long beat, then leans back. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Well, good news is, I’m patient and a good listener.”

I pick at the food on my plate, my appetite completely shot.

Because the worst part of all of this, the part I won’t say out loud, the part Eugene probably already suspects, is that I don’t know if I’m more pissed at Finn for lying…

Or at myself for not giving him the chance to explain.

Chapter seventeen

Finn

Whentheclassends,I’m still sitting in my seat, gripping my pen so tightly it might snap.

I don’t know why I expected him to be here. Maybe I thought he’d show up to his own class. Maybe I thought I’d get a chance to talk to him after, pull him aside, make him hear me out. Maybe I’m trying not to be that desperate guy, but here we are.

The substitute, some older professor, who clearly didn’t want to be here, gave a half-assed lecture before making us sit through the most mind-numbing presentation slides. Normally, I’d be happy about a class that doesn’t need as much attention. But today, all it does is give me more time to stew. Because Foxx wasn’t here, and that’s a choice, a message that says he doesn’t want to hear me out.

I grab my notebook and shove it into my bag, my movements uncoordinated as irritation claws at the edges of my patience. I don’t need another thing unresolved. Another thing lingering in my chest, twisting, making me feel like I should have donesomething different. I live with regret every day, and I’m damn sure not going to let this add to that.

Gripping the strap of my bag, I try to shake off the frustration, but it’s already set in. It’s in my shoulders, in my jaw, in my fucking ribs, making my whole body feel too tight, too small for everything I’m holding in.

I know he won’t respond to any of my messages, but he can’t pretend I don’t exist. And now, I’m done. I need to set things straight so I can stop feeling so damn guilty for the look on his face.

We’re strangers. That’s what makes this so fucking stupid. I’m bent out of shape for who? A guy who gave me an orgasm. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. We had one night and maybe it wasn’t meant to be, us regularly hooking up.

I should be used to things not working out.

I should be used to things ending without resolution, without closure.

When I left surfing, I let people make their assumptions about me, said I got the yips and couldn’t cope with the pressure, and I didn’t correct them, or at least no one wanted to listen to my side, so I gave up. My whole damn life fell apart, and I just let it happen.

I roll the tension from my shoulders. I tell myself to calm down, but my body isn’t listening. My legs are already moving before I make the conscious decision to go.

I shove my phone back in my pocket, and while I could so easily go to his place, I don’t want to confront him there. I need to make a statement, so Daphne is going to show me where his CLU campus office is instead.

If he won’t come to class, if he won’t check his damn messages, then he doesn’t get to ignore me.

He’s going to listen. Whether he wants to or not.

***

I’ve thought about this. I’ve planned for it.

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