Page 73 of The Fangirl and the Grump

And while she may be a little upset that I ended the arrangement earlier than expected, she’ll get over it. Over me.

Just like she always planned to.

ChapterThirty-Three

Keegan

Why am I even still here? I’ve been cooped up in this house since the night everything fell apart, and I’ve been completely alone since Pressley left a week and a half ago to head back to Seattle.

The video we filmed that night ended up going viral, just like the last one, and Planter’s set up and in-person meeting to discuss our partnership moving forward. Pressley begged me to go with her, but I refused. I convinced her I needed more time and promised I wouldn’t miss the next one. Pressley assured me she’d tell the company representatives I’m sick so they won’t get the idea that I’m not fully invested.

I am. I just need time.

Pressley has been an incredible friend to me since she showed up on my doorstep that night. She paved the way for this influencer opportunity and has had my back through this thing with Trace even though I refused to tell her what happened.

I haven’t told anyone. I turned off my phone after sending my resignation to Willow and hid in the bedroom when she came knocking at the front door a few hours later. I know I’m going to have to talk to her, eventually. She took me under her wing and supported me when I had no friends and no job. I owe her an explanation.

So, I turned my phone back on a few days ago and, after skimming through dozens of texts from her, sent her an apology and told her I’d let her know the second I was ready to talk about it. She, of course, immediately texted back, scolded me for the radio silence like a mother hen, and assured me she’d be here the instant I gave her the word.

And I haven’t given that word, yet.

Honestly, I’m feeling kind of foolish about the whole thing. I shouldn’t have tried to force Trace into something he didn’t want to do. That’s on me. But he was wrong, too, disparaging my age and maturity like that. He could’ve just patted me on the head and put me to bed, telling me we could talk when I sobered up. That, I would have no problem with.

And after everything Trace said to me, he hasn’t tried once to make things right. He left and hasn’t contacted me since. Not a call. Not a single text message. Nothing.

That should tell me everything I need to know, right?

I was so fucking stupid, allowing myself to fall for him. I knew the rules. Hell, Imadethe rules. It was only supposed to be about the sex. But I never expected the man I found beneath that grumpy exterior. And I certainly never expected to love him.

“I need food,” I mumble to myself as I stumble into the kitchen.

Opening the refrigerator, I frown at the contents, which include several bottles of juice and soda Pressley and I used as mixers in our video, one lemon, and half a block of cheese. I check the freezer before slamming it shut, too. Nothing but half a bag of pizza rolls in there and a spoonful of ice cream I left just so I wouldn’t feel bad for eating the whole pint in one sitting.

The cabinets are practically bare, too, and I realize I haven’t gone grocery shopping in at least two weeks. Maybe longer, since Pressley was the last to shop, and that was several days before she left for Seattle.

I bite my lip. I could try my ride-sharing app, but I’m not sure if a town as small as Evening Shade actually has drivers. Maybe there’s a taxi in town.

I grab my phone from the counter, but instead of running a search on local transportation options, I pull up my calendar app. I don’t even know what fucking day it is, I’ve been so out of it.

When I see it’s Sunday, I close out the app and twitch my thumbs over the screen without tapping it. Moonstone Mystic is closed, so Willow might be free. Releasing a pent up breath, I pull up her number and shoot off a text.

Me:I’m starving, and there’s no food in this house. Give me a ride to the grocery store?

Her reply is instantaneous.

Willow:Be there in ten.

I shoot off a quick thank you and rush into my room. Thank God, I decided to shower today. Those have been few and far between over the last couple of weeks. What’s the point when there’s no one else here to smell me?

Okay, I know there’s more to showering regularly than that, but it’s the excuse I gave myself when I was too depressed to pull myself out of bed.

But no more.

It’s time I got back to the business of living, and this is the first step.

Stripping out of my shorts and tank, I pull on the lavender sundress I love so much. Might as well try to look good even if I’m not quite feeling it, yet. Strapping on some sandals, I hurry to the bathroom and brush out my hair and pull the sides back in matching barrettes. Pinching my cheeks to put some color into them, I leave the bathroom just as a knock sounds on the door.

That wasnotten minutes.

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