Page 40 of Trouble in Love

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“Luca.” Ana groaned, her voice dulled by frustration. “You are a beautiful, trusting soul who needs to snap the fuck out of fairytale land and dive back into reality. I have told you this before. People, in general, are assholes. Your girl, Polly, is not the exception to the rule, and there is nothing wrong with having feelings. You have to learn to pace yourself and not fall in love with every Tom, Dick, and Sally who wriggles their dick or bats their lashes at you.”

“You’re right. Polly does have nice lashes.” I sighed, picturing their delicate fluttering as I brought her undone on my tongue.

“Oh, god.”

“And you’re right about the other stuff, too.” I added with haste, “I think I’ve finally realized what an absolute shithouse judge of character I am. I become besotted too quickly, trust too freely, and think too infrequently.”

“I agree one hundred percent with the first two but will argue the third till my throat bleeds. You are not stupid, and you have to stop telling yourself you are.”

I snorted and took another sip of my beer. “Ahh, didn’t say I was stupid. Just that I didn’t think a lot.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Maybe I’m too stupid to know.”

The last call I had with Ana was another that ended with her hanging up in frustration. I was beginning to expect this one would be no different. I was wrong. In hindsight, her patience should have been a red flag.

“Speaking of stupid people, have you heard from or anything about Clara?” she asked.

I waited for the dagger-twisting-into-my-heart feeling to arrive, but it never came.Hmm.“Nope … why? Have you? Did she contact you looking for me?”

“Pfft. Like she’d contact me. She knows I’d cut her.”

“Yeah, sure.” I laughed. “Why ask about her then? You never bring her up. She’s like Voldemort, she who must not be named.”

“Oh. Um. No reason. Hey, Ma’s out with Abi, but asked me to ask you, if you’re still coming home on the same date. I think they’re planning a welcome home party.”

“Oh god.” An instant headache throbbed at my temples. Ma and Abi Kim were a more formidable duo than Rachel and Anabela. A party with them and God knows who else they invited, was my worst nightmare. “Yep, but for the love of God Ana. No party. I just want to come home and focus—.”

“On hockey. Yes, we all know you want to get back on the ice, but you have to remember Ma has been worried sick about you, and Abi’s the same with the boys. Let them have this.”

“Fuck. I’m tired just thinking about it.”

“Yeah, well, you know what I am?”

A precursory snort slipped from my throat. “Nosey and annoying.”

“Yes, and proud. You were a wreck when you got there, Luca. But you’ve worked hard, rehabbed, and got yourself fit. You still have a lot to face, and there’s no doubt you’re still a mess, but you’re a healthier mess.”

The backhanded compliment churned through my brain then came to a clunking halt. “Hey. What did you mean, still have a lot to face?”

Apart from the clicking of her tongue, Ana fell silent. “Ahhh … Coming Mom!”

“I know she’s not there, Ana. You just told me she was out with Abi Kim.”

“She just got home. Has heaps of bags to carry. Ohh, she almost fell, love ya gotta go.” TheOhhshealmostfellloveyagottagocame out as one rushed,panicked word. What wasn’t my sister telling me, and what other nightmare did I still have to face?

My gentle ease back into society was dinner with seven adults and seven kids squished around a giant table that Finn, a man who seemed good at everything, handcrafted for occasions such as these. It was nosy, chaotic and intimidating, and the reason why I volunteered to ‘make a pub run to the bottle-o’… once I was told what that meant.

In Australia, drive-thru bottle shops/liquor stores were remarkably convenient and, as such, could be found everywhere. Unfortunately, the closest one to Finn and Scarlett’s was attached to the pub where Polly and I had defiled the office just a few short days ago.

For them, it was a no-go zone. For me, the ride gave me an extra workout and the chance to face the itch I shouldn’t scratch.

Perhaps the old, lure of the forbidden, drove my lingering need to see her.

If so, it wasn’t a new thing.

In my last two years of college, I’d mostly been with men, and it wasn’t based on sexual preference. It was the risk. It was the same as the night I got snapped by the paparazzi. I could have hooked up with any, or all of the willing girls at Dallas’s party. But getting caught made the sex drought ending—potentially reputation-ruining three-way even more irresistible.