Page 62 of Three Pucking Words
“He can call the chick he’s seeing if there’s one, and your lawyer can get in touch with you if there’s an issue with the paperwork. What ifs are no longer allowed to be in your vocab, Honor.”
I knew she was right, but every time I entertained the idea of blocking his number I couldn’t go through with it. Anxiety would bubble in my chest whenever my finger lingered on the button that would take him out of my digital life.
Three letters.
One simply word, and my night was ruined.
Hey.
I didn’t answer, of course. But I didn’t stop thinking about it the second that message popped up on my screen. I debated on deleting it—out of sight out of mind and all that jazz. I didn’t, and I don’t know why. And I’mmadat myself for hesitating when I want nothing to do with the boy who I gave so much of myself to.
I’d told Bodhi I had to leave soon after, realizing that I wasn’t going to be fun company anymore. I ordered another Uber before he could so much as offer to drive me home and gathered my things.
When Bodhi texted me later that night asking if I was all right, I didn’t respond. Maybe it was a bitchy thing to do, but I wasn’t in the mood to converse with anyone. Not him. Not Max.Not Sylvia or my father. I wanted to be alone. To sulk and feel my feels. More than that, I wanted to figure out what the hell my feelingswereother than anger.
I meant what I said to Bodhi. Getting close with someone, liking them enough to let my barriers down, means risking getting hurt by them. Max is a prime example of why that’s a bad idea.
I’m startled out of the thought when a saran-wrapped tray of something gets dropped into my lap.
My eyes move from the brownies and up, up, up to meet Bodhi’s smiling face as he peels his carry-on off his shoulder and puts it in the overhead bin above our row of seats.
Karina handed me my ticket this morning and told me everyone had random assigned seats, so I didn’t think twice about who I’d be sitting next to. I had my noise canceling headphones, so I was going to listen to my playlist, take a much-needed nap, and probably play a ridiculous amount of Bejeweled Blitz on my phone.
My focus goes back on the brownies that must have an entire box of saran wrap around it. “You made me brownies?”
He settles into the seat beside me and buckles himself in, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Made them from scratch. And by scratch I mean the box.”
“But…” I blink. “Why?”
His smile is amused. “Because I didn’t have the regular ingredients to do it by hand.”
I gape at him. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
His dimple appears. “You seemed sad when you left last night. Figured you could use a pick me up.”
I looked sad so he made me brownies? Now I feel even worse for ignoring his text. He must have been up for way longer than he should have been considering how early he needed to meet the team for this trip. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to you. I—”
“You don’t need to explain,” he tells me earnestly. “Unless you want to, of course. But you don’t owe me anything, Honor. I wanted to make sure you were all right. That’s all.”
I swallow down my words as I stare at the tray. Then I ask, “How did you even get a whole tray of brownies past security? I had a chocolate bar confiscated from TSA once, but they let you through withthis?”
One of his brows pops up. “What did you put in the chocolate? Drugs? A knife?”
I snort laugh, one of the most unattractive sounds even to my ears. I’m not embarrassed about it, because it makes Bodhi’s eyes light up. “No. I’ve never done drugs in my life.Ortried to smuggle them.”
He seems shocked. “Not even marijuana?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
“No blunt? No edibles.”
This time, my laugh is light. “No. I told you, I’ve never done drugs. I haven’t even smoked a cigarette before. I’ve never had any interest.”
He’s gaping at me like I admitted to setting my childhood home on fire with everybody still inside. “Wow. And you don’t drink, right?”
He asked me that once before, and I didn’t feel like elaborating at the time. “I have a glass of wine every so often, but it’s rare. I don’t have much of a taste for alcohol. My mother…” I nibble on the inside of my cheek. “She liked it a little too much. I’m not worried I’ll be a raging alcoholic or anything, but the thought of getting to her level turns me off from it.”
I’ve never been afraid of alcohol. I drank in college. Once, I got super drunk on rum and cokes because my suitemates were heavy pourers and I didn’t want to seem lame for drinking water all night. I woke up so sick that I almost made one of them take me to the hospital. But one very greasy breakfast later, I felt lesshorrible. I didn’t swear off drinking altogether, but it certainly wasn’t a priority in my life the same way it is for my mother.
