Page 10 of The Problem with Perfect

“I’m gonna go help…” I start, my head tilting in the direction of where Emily is pouring shots for a group of women wearing matching pink shirts. “We’ll talk later?”

I turn, heading over to help make margaritas and tropical drinks while Emily prepares a full tray of shots. Apparently these ladies are planning to have a pretty wild Monday evening.

Unfortunately, apart from the group of women getting wasted, it’s a fairly calm evening at The Mitch, leaving my mind free to wander through the murky discomfort of my thoughts and my mortifying declaration that I’m in a very serious relationship with Rusty Fuller. Clearly I was having a stroke, because that was an absolutely outlandish thing to say.

Ever since seeing Connor and Stace at bonfire night, I’ve been thinking about how much more convenient it would be if I had a boyfriend. Maybe what happened with Connor last summer wouldn’t hurt so much if I had moved on to my own perfect relationship.

But through all those thoughts, it never even occurred to me to lie about it. I’m not the type of person to keep secrets or be dramatic or create a bald-faced lie.

I never lie aboutanything.

When Connor said what he said, about me having had acrushon him…as if last summer was nothing, as if my feelings are some kind of joke or anecdote to laugh about with friends—I mean, how could Inotscramble for a way to make myself seem less foolish?

Because that’s exactly how I feel: like a fool. My feelings for Connor were large and overwhelming from the start, stretching all the way back to sophomore year of high school, and there hasn’t ever been any going back.

Not when he dated Jeanette Kingston junior year. Not when he would visit from college and began stopping in to see me at work. Not when he moved home for the summer last year and I started tutoring him in math because he’d failed a core business accounting class. Not when things between us finally became intimate.

Last summer was the best summer of my life, and when Connor left and went back to finish his senior year, I thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, because I was wrong.

I was so very wrong.

* * *

Connor and Stace take off a little while later, promising to reach out about a double date soon. Eventually, Rusty and Andy leave as well, and it’s hard not to notice the long look Rusty gives me before he walks out the door.

I don’t doubt he’s upset. I would be if someone had just made a claim like that about me in a public place where I felt pressured and unable to deny it, which is why I find myself parked outside his house once my shift has ended, mentally rehearsing my apology and trying to determine the best way to get us out of the mess I’ve caused.

Rusty’s frown is more than apparent when he answers the door, but he also looks like I’ve woken him from sleeping, and it only then occurs to me that I’ve stopped by his place at two in the morning.

“I’m sorry, Rusty.”

He sighs, his eyes rolling slightly before he turns away and retreats back into his house, leaving me standing in the open doorway.

“Okay…am I supposed to follow you?” I ask, calling after him.

When he doesn’t say anything in response, I decide to just assume yes, and I step in, closing the door behind me and making the short trek from the entry into the living room. I find Rusty there pouring the second of two glasses of whiskey, and he turns, wordlessly extending one in my direction. I take it and tip back the entire thing in one go, grimacing at the way it burns my throat all the way down into my chest.

“You know, if you’re going to wake me up in the middle of the night, you could at least pretend you appreciate good whiskey and sip it slowly.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, handing the glass back to him.

He takes it and turns back to the liquor cabinet, grabbing a bottle of Maker’s Mark and refilling the glass about halfway.

“If you’re going to drink it like a monster, at least don’t waste the good stuff.”

I nod, accepting the new glass and taking another big sip, coughing a few times from the burn.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s just whiskey, Bellamy. It’s not that big—”

“I mean about the Connor thing.” I stare at the glass in my hand. “I don’t know what came over me, I was just…”

“You were upset.” Rusty leans back against the counter, setting his glass next to him before crossing his arms. “People do dumb things when they’re upset.”

I shake my head. “Not me. I never do dumb things.”

He pins me with a look that saysclearlyI do.

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