Page 92 of Renegade Roomie

I gulp. “It wasn’t real for Dash. He doesn’t feel the same way.”

Piper snorts with laughter. “My God, you really are a perfect couple. You’re both as oblivious as each other!”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Dash is crazy about you,” Piper rolls her eyes. “It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain.”

My hopes rise pathetically. “He said that to you?”

Piper pauses. “Well, not exactly….”

I deflate again.

“Oh. Either way, it doesn’t matter.” I add. “He’s made it pretty clear he’s not a relationship guy. And I don’t want to play any games. I can’t deal with another no-strings thing with a guy who freaks out if I leave a sweater at his place. And if I fall any more for Dash, and he stays casual… It’ll hurt even more than it does right now.”

Piper puts down the sweater she’s folding. “Look, I know my brother does a really good impression of someone doesn’t care, but that’s just a defense mechanism. Dash cares, a lot more than anyone knows. And I’m sure he cares about you.”

I wish I could be so certain.

“You’re sweet for saying that,” I tell her. “But I haven’t heard a peep from him since he engineered a whole fake proposal to end our fake relationship.”

Piper shakes her head at me in annoyance. “Like I said, oblivious!”

“Is it ‘gang up against Callie’ day?” I protest. “Between you and my friend Lorelei, I’m feeling very misunderstood.”

Piper grins. “Deal with it.” She says cheerfully. “Now, which pile do socks go in?”

* * *

I finish up my shift at the fundraiser and meander back, thinking about what she said.

About everything.

All week, I’ve been wallowing in heartbreak, telling myself that Dash has screwed this up. He’s the one who hasn’t contacted. He’s the one who pulled the stupid engagement stunt.

He never told me how he really feels.

But… I can’t ignore the annoying little voice in my mind—or Lorelei—reminding me that I never told him, either. I’ve been wanting to say something since that amazing, passionate night in the boathouse, but every time I came close, I chickened out. I didn’t want to be the one making a fool of myself, risking rejection, or that awful moment where the guy winces, and says they never meant to give me the wrong idea…

For someone so used to rejection in my professional life, you’d think I’d be a little braver when it came to my heart, but nope. I can have a hundred doors slammed in my face, hell, I can literally go digging through trash when it comes to my makeup line, but tell someone how I feel when the answer might crush my fragile little hopes?

Absolutely not.

Except… Where exactly has that gotten me? My tenacity over the makeup line led me to good, if unexpected, things. It wasn’t conventional, but here I am, taking my business to the next level: Renting lab space, hiring employees, with the kind of resources I always dreamed about.

And then I go home, alone, to an empty apartment and wallow in lovelorn misery.

Well, empty save one very ornery parrot.

But that’s hardly the big, bold life I want. The big, bold love…

My heart aches, thinking back over the past couple of weeks with Dash. Bickering with him over sushi… Spinning those wild stories about each other over dinner. Surprising him on the tennis courts—and then being surprised right back by his bird-watching interests, and the way he would light up with enthusiasm, describing a rare breed as we motored through the swamp. And the sex…

Oh, the sex.

I’ve never had passion like that with anyone. Not just the intensity and pleasure—and boy, was there pleasure—but the rest of it, too. Laughing, teasing, feeling totally at ease. Like I didn’t have to pretend to be an easier version of myself just to keep him happy: Less ambitious or driven, the way it’s been with other guys. I could say whatever was on my mind, babble about sheer lipstick recipes for an hour, and he would still be interested—because it was interesting to me.

I sigh. The irony isn’t lost on me: That it took a fake relationship to make me feel the most like myself with a man.

---