Page 71 of Contingently Yours
This morning I had another one from him. It was a picture of a granola bar. The sight of his fingers in the shot should not have had the effect on me that it did. I felt giddy at seeing any part of him. Giddy that he thought of me enough to text me, even if it was a stupid message.
Stole this. #sorry
#hearthealthyhasnoaccountfortaste
Waking up my phone, I tell myself it’s because I need to get a head start on looking up bands or DJs to right the epic fuck-up that is sure to ruin the reception. It’s true. I do. Seeing several messages from Andrew, though, is an easy distraction. They have me hopeful that I was wrong. That I wasn’t just a fling.
Andrew: Are you done bachelor-ing yet?
Andrew: Did you forget how good I look naked, or were you scarred for life by my toe injury? I’m telling you, it didn’t fall off. Plus, I can still hit that spot you like without it.
Andrew: What time are you coming over? Are you going to leave me hanging?
As I read the stream of messages, my facial muscles go slack. I think I just got a booty call. Three impatient booty calls, to be exact. Revisiting our hotel conversation, I suddenly feel like a damn fool.
I invited him to lunch to celebrate our closings. I know he said he had a family lunch thing to go to, but all I’ve ever heard him do is complain about most of his family. If he refuses to work for them, you’d think he’d have no qualms about missing a lunch he doesn’t want to go to. I suggested lunch, and what did he do? Hesuggested I miss the bachelor party to apparently come over to his place and let him fuck me again. He was already planning it before we left.
Suddenly, everything I was confused about doesn’t seem so confusing anymore. The way he joked about thanking his cousin for the prostate advice and made fun of me for stuffing rice bags. Yeah, I did stuff rice bags, but that’s not the point.
Not in the mood. Wedding problems.
Rattling off the message, I hit send and toss my phone on the dresser to get out of my boots. I no sooner get only one set of laces undone before it buzzes to life again.
Andrew:Dude, they didn’t call it off, did they?
Dude? I went from sweetheart to dude. And why is his first assumption that the girls called off the wedding? Is that some kind of crack about me and Shannon? Does he think everyone in my family leaves or gets left at the altar?
Closing my eyes, I take a breath. I’m still spun up from the bachelor party and worrying about how I’m going to save the reception. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions and am still programmed for pre-fake boyfriend Andrew.
No, the band canceled at the last minute.
I get my other boot off and just start on my pants when another message comes in.Is it too difficult for him to call me?
Andrew: Have someone stream a playlist. Problem solved. What time will you be here? Or do I need to send an Uber?
I could be drunk for all he knows. I just came from a bachelor party. Typical old Andrew. Never thinking about anyone but himself and never taking anything seriously. He once spouted off to me that women wantTiffany’sand shit like that, and yet,streaming a playlist is good enough for my sisters now because he’s horny?
I’m sick of it. All of it. Is there a sign on my forehead that says I’m shit and people can walk all over me? Mark, his stupid cousin, Andrew, heck, maybe even Shannon, now that I’m on a roll. Silencing my notifications, I toss my phone on my nightstand and make my way down the hall to my home office. I have a laptop in there that will be free of communications from the aggravating, selfish man on the other end of my phone that I don’t have time to deal with right now.
As I power it up, I try to push everything from my mind. The blissful thoughts, the sensual words, his moments of openness, all the things that made me lose my head and think our time together meant something. The big, fat red warning signs that told me this is what the outcome would be come flooding back to me. He’s a womanizer. Throwing a man into the mix wasn’t going to change anything. Andrew doesn’t know how to do anything else. It was me and who I am that made me think differently. It was a great physical connection, but just physical.
“You idiot,” I chide myself.
For a brief moment, I thought I saw another layer to him. There are more layers than I suspected, but still only two sides to him, apparently. One in bed and one out of bed.
CHAPTER 27
Andrew
Sucking on the end of my fingertip, I pull it from my mouth and blow on the blister where a needle from my artificial Christmas tree poked it. Maybe I lit a few too many candles in anticipation of Lucas coming over last night. My bedroom looked like I was prepared for a seance. A seance that never happened and ended in physical misery.
Ouch! That hurts.
Sighing, I glance down at my phone. No new messages. Still.
I’m starting to worry. Did he slip in the bathroom from the way he takes off his pants, fall, crack his head open, and is now lying there in need of medical attention? What other explanation can there be for ghosting me?
He stopped answering my text messages last night and didn’t pick up when I called. Which is fine. Maybe he fell asleep. He went to a bachelor party, after all. But that’s no explanation of why he hasn’t answered yet. I’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn, feeling invigorated since I got home. Maybe my adjustment to different time zones is still in effect. Lucas was always early for work, though, so I assumed he’d be awake by now, especially since he’s in wedding mode. I called him when I got up, and the call went to voicemail again. I left one, but he still hasn’t called me back.
