Page 40 of Best Friend's Dirty Ex

“In that situation, I think we were both played.” Of course, I'm going to put all of the blame on Lyla's shoulders. She saw an opportunity to absolutely ruin me and make a buck in the process. I have no doubt that Arson didn't know the entire truth because I'm not totally sure she knows how to tell the truth.

I take a drink of the whiskey that's sitting in front of me before rolling the glass back and forth between my hands, carefully sloshing the amber liquid.

I've never really been the kind of person who wished I could go back in time and do something, but now I absolutely wish I could go back and undo the bet. Still, feeling sorry for myself isn't going to do any good. Instead, I'm going to focus on how I can fix this moving forward. And I do like a puzzle.

But even as I try to keep thinking forward, my mind keeps going back to the thought that maybe I love her.

Is it possible for someone like me to fall in love?

Sure, I've been in lust plenty of times, but I don't think that counts. And in my experience with lust, that desire begins to fade out. Once it's gone, there's no getting it back. It's scary to think that what I feel for her now could go that same direction. Maybe making big life decisions based on how I feel right now isn't the best idea.

“Honestly, I just think you should give her some time to come around. Either she will or she won't.” Rico’s voice is very matter of fact as he continues to sip on his soda.

I don't really like that suggestion, but I can't help but think the idea has some merit.

I lift my glass to my lips, my eyes unfocused as I stare at the great stone fireplace.

This place is the perfect mix of modern and throwback hunting mansion. It's a mixture of glass, natural wood, stone for the fireplace, and bright lights that would cheer me up if such a thing were possible.

But still, thinking about design brings my thoughts right back to Everly. She’d done such an amazing job in my office, but now my space sounds so quiet and empty without her. I'd give almost anything to have her and the work crews back.

Walking through my home is almost eerie in the silence. I've taken to having music played almost all hours of the day and night, but it still doesn't replace what I feel like I've lost.

“I think she’ll come around.” Sandra sounds hopeful as Rico pats her knee and agrees with a nod.

Around the table everyone seems to agree that Everly will come around, but I’m not so sure.

I know that what I did hurt her deeply and destroyed her trust. Once trust is lost, it's generally just as hard to get back as love or lust. The thought that I may have ruined everything with such an insignificant - to me - act, a bet, drives me mad.

“Don't lose heart. She's a smart girl and I know she likes you.” On the tail end of her words, Sandra waves at someone across the room with a bright smile.

It's almost easy to forget we're in a restaurant, even though there are only a few other patrons. As soon as Arson's dad found out we were coming, he made sure to shut down the reservation system so we'd have the place as close to ourselves as possible.

But now that we're here, it almost seems like no one else wants to leave either, as if they're all enjoying the quiet atmosphere. I don't blame them. This place is absolutely peaceful, elegant, and exceptionally comfortable. And when it’s nearly empty, it’s even better.

“Uh-oh.” I hear the worry in Arson’s tone and glance at him.

He’s looking past me, and I turn my attention the way he’s facing and my heart sinks to my toes.

Lyla storms our direction, her expression furious. I recognize that look; she’s on the warpath, and whatever happens next is going to be loud, unpleasant, and downright ugly.

I take another drink, mentally preparing myself as a single question pops into my mind.

Is she here for Arson... or me?

Luckily - or unluckily - I don’t have to wait long for an answer as she stops beside me, planting both hands on her hips and glaring at me as if I’m something she tracked in on the bottom of her shoe.

She stands there in silence, as if expecting me to acknowledge her presence, something I'm certainly not about to do. Instead, I take another sip of my whiskey and toy with the glass, waiting for her to say or do whatever it is she came here for. Inside, I'm preparing and bracing myself for whatever awful accusations she levies at me.

Not that it matters; I learned a long time ago that there's no way to brace for what Lyla does next. She's a bit of a loose cannon and abusive to boot in her own special, unique way.

The seconds tick by and I can see the people around the table glancing from her to me and back again as if waiting to see what will happen next. Around us, though, the sounds of people eating and drinking continue, the clink of silverware on plates, the soft sound of cups touching tables, muted conversations that seem more hushed than they were moments ago.

It's as if the entire restaurant is holding its breath, knowing that something is about to happen.

I'm sure as heck not about to be the one to light the match near the powder keg.

Lyla finally seems to find her voice, and I internally find myself wishing she’d have remained mute forever. “How dare you?”

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