Page 68 of What If I Hate You
All eyes turn to me, and I feel my jaw clench reflexively. This was a mistake. I should've just suffered in silence like I always do.
"You know what I don’t understand,” Marlee starts, her tone neutral but her eyes calculating. “Is how the last time I spoke with Blakely, she was laying next to you in your bed having spent the night with you and now, I haven’t heard from her in three days other than the words ‘I’m fine’ repeated back to me every time I check on her.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Harrison sits up straighter and glances around the table at everyone’s non-shocked expressions and then his shoulders fall. “Oh, so I’m the only dumbass who didn’t know Bear slept with Blakely?”
“Sorry man,” Griffin says with a slight cringe. “The ladies…you know. They do their lady thing so I guess that’s how we know.”
“Right. Another reminder that I’m single. Wonderful.” He shoves a fry into his mouth and then sighs loudly. “Continue.”
I grab a fry from my plate as well, to buy myself time. My throat feels tight, like I'm about to confess to a crime. In a way, I am. The crime of being a complete and utter jackass to the one woman who's gotten under my skin.
"So," Harrison says beside me, "you going to tell us what's got you looking like someone ran over your favorite hockey stick, or are we supposed to guess?"
I glance around the table, suddenly aware of how many eyes are on me. This is exactly what I was dreading. Being the centerof attention for all the wrong reasons. Vulnerability isn't my strong suit.
"Look, I messed up, okay?" I finally blurt out, the words rushing past my defenses before I can stop them. "I got in my own damn head, and I pushed her away."
The table goes quiet, and I can feel my neck heating up. This is exactly why I don't do vulnerability. It feels like being stripped naked in front of a firing squad.
"What exactly happened?" Ella asks, her voice gentler than I expected.
I drag my hand down my face. "We had this… moment. After that asshole Mercer was a dick to her in the press room. I found her crying in the bathroom and?—"
"Wait, Blakely was crying?" Marlee interrupts, her eyebrows shooting up. "She never cries."
"Yeah, well, she was," I mutter, the memory still raw. "I watched the interview. I knew it was bad. I could see it all over her face so I went to find her. I took her back to my place to let her meet Killer and?—”
“Killer?” August asks shoving a fry into his mouth. “Who the fuck is Killer?”
Griffin steals a fry from the basket in the middle of the table. “Yeah bro, is Killer code for like some huge ass dildo because Layken has this rainbow colored?—”
Layken’s hand flies to Griffin’s mouth before he can finish but August is already giggling. “Layken has an ass dildo?”
“Oh, my God!” She laughs, shaking her head. “ I do not have an ass dildo, thank you very much. Sorry Bear. Continue.”
“Killer is my kitten,” I explain to the group. “I rescued him from outside a while back.”
“You have a cat?” Harrison’s mouth falls open. “How the hell did we not know this?”
I shrug and reply deadpan, “Because you didn’t ask. Can I continue?”
“Okay so you showed Blakely your secret little kitten,” Ella recounts. “Then what?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "We talked. Like, really talked. I told her about where I'm from, a little about my past. Where I spend my free time. Who I donate to. All of it."
"Whoa," Oliver whispers. "You never tell anyone about that."
"I know," I grumble, grabbing another fry. "But she was in my apartment asking me why I live so plainly when I have all this money to my name. I just felt like she deserved to know the truth. And she seemed to respect it. And then one thing led to another and we… you know."
"Fucked on your kitchen floor?" Layken supplies helpfully.
I choke on my fry and my face burns as the guys let out low whistles and chuckles. "Jesus Christ," I scrub a hand over my face. "Is nothing private?"
"Not when it comes to girl talk," Marlee says with a shrug.
“But please for the love of God, tell me you did not kick her out after she spent the night with you."
"I didn't kick her out," I protest weakly. "I just… gave her an out."
