Page 58 of Imperfect Player

Everly matters.

I look at the glass. Still full. Not a sip missing. I pick it up, but this time I take it to the sink and drain it. I toss the bottle in the garbage can.

I call Everly.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

Even I can hear the emotion in my voice as I speak. I’m sure she hears it too, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Lying in bed.”

I groan.

“That’s quite the visual.”

Focus on her. Forget the alcohol.

“Don’t ask for a picture.”

“I already have one, remember?”

“You kept that?”

“Of course I did. In fact, I look at it. A lot.”

I can practically see the flush of her cheeks.

“What is happening here?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit willfully. It’s the truth, and honestly not something I can decide on right now. Especially not right now.

“Me either, but, uh . . . I like it.”

Me too. So fucking much.

Hell, just the sound of her voice has calmed the rapid beating of my heart. The panic that rose in me nearly gone. The anger, not so much. That I’m used to though. That I live with every day. It’s what drives me. Pushes me to be better. In hopes that they see. They see what they gave up on, what they walked away from.

“I’m a mess, sunshine.”

“None of us are perfect.”

“I’m more than just a little imperfect. I’m disaster level.”

“Doesn’t scare me a bit.”

It should. It scares the fuck out of me.

“Can we just agree on something?” she asks.

“What’s that?”

“That there’s something here. Something more than friendship?”

“I will willingly admit to that, yes.”

“Maybe we just see what happens.”

---