Page 99 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
I have to find out.
I grind against him, testing the friction, and his head falls back against the couch. “Jesus, Juliet.”
I love the way he says my name when he’s losing control. Love that I’m the one making him fall apart.
“Jules,” he breathes. I freeze, going completely still.
Everything stops. The warmth in my chest turns to ice, and suddenly I’m somewhere else entirely.
Patrick’s apartment, six months ago, his voice casual and cutting as he told me exactly why no man would ever choose me over his own comfort.
“Don’t call me that,” I say, my voice flat.
Hunter blinks, confusion replacing the heat in his eyes. “What?”
“Jules. Don’t call me that.”
“I... did I do something wrong?”
I’m already reaching for my shirt, pulling it over my head like armor. “It’s just a name Patrick used to call me.”
Understanding dawns on his face, followed immediately by something that looks like guilt. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine,” I lie, even though it’s not fine at all. Even though hearing that nickname in his voice just reminded me of every reason this is a terrible idea.
Hunter doesn’t push, which somehow makes it worse. He just watches me retreat, probably wondering what the hell just happened.
I pull my legs up to my chest, suddenly cold despite the heat still radiating between us. The room feels too small, the air too thin. Like I can’t get enough oxygen.
“Hey,” Hunter says quietly, leaning closer. “What’s wrong? And don’t say anything, because you just went somewhere else entirely.”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
“Talk to me, Juliet.”
The gentle way he says my full name almost breaks me. Patrick never said it like that. Like it mattered. Like I mattered.
“You ruined everything for me in college,” I hear myself saying. “You don’t even remember, do you? That night at the Delta Tau Delta party.”
His face goes blank, then careful. “What about it?”
“You said I wasn’t your type. That I was a control freak with no sex appeal. That I probably had a spreadsheet for my virginity.“
The words taste bitter in my mouth. “You thought it was funny. Someone printed it. I lost everything I’d worked for.”
The color drains from his face. “Fuck. I didn’t... I didn’t think anyone was listening. I didn’t know it got printed. It was… offhand.”
The old anger rises in my throat. “You still said it. It’s what drove me right into Patrick’s arms.”
He eyes me. “Do you think I didn’t know everything you did in college? I was obsessed with you. I am obsessed with you, Monroe.”
“What?” I shake my head vehemently. “You’re just saying that.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, processing. Then he leans back, running both hands through his hair. “Why do you think I’ve never had a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. Your whole…” I wave at his face. “Big scowly hockey dude vibe?”
He grunts. “Like that scared off the jersey chasers. No, I always had the image of you in the back of my mind. How could any other girl possibly live up to you?”
