Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(13)

And how pathetic is it that my cheating ex-boyfriend is my only option for a last-minute housing crisis? For the millionth time, I wish Jordan wasn’t picking this summer to go home to Rhode Island. She did her best, exhausting every possible option in her vast network in an effort to find me a place. But few college students are crazy enough to stick around New York in the summer, even if they can afford it. And the ones who are going to be here already have like a dozen too many roommates. So that leaves David. The guy who cheated on me. Something I’m still not sure I care that much about.

“What do you wanna do for dinner?” he asks.

I gape at his casual tone, as though we’re going to go back to the way we were when we were a couple. “Look, David, I really appreciate that you’re letting me crash here, but we’re not even close to getting back together.”

He runs a hand through his too long sandy-brown hair and gives me his signature hooded look, which I’m pretty sure he knows is sexy as hell. David is gorgeous in the sulky, slacker kind of way. He’s lanky, with smoky hazel eyes and this impossibly good skin. He’s an engineering major, although he could easily be an art major or a deep philosophy guy, or pretty much anything you want him to be.

Including a first-rate man-skank, apparently. Although I didn’t see it coming, and that sucked.

Oddly, though, I don’t find him nearly as attractive as I once did. Not that I was ever hot for him. I haven’t been truly turned on by a guy since … before. But after being away from him for a few weeks, I don’t even find him good-looking in an objective kind of way. He’s too skinny, too greasy. His shoulders are too narrow, his eyes too dark, and …

Oh, shit.

I realize that I’m inadvertently comparing David to Ethan Price.

David’s definitely in second place. A distant second.

“I know we’re not together, Steph, but there’s no reason we can’t at least be friends,” David is whining.

I raise an eyebrow. “I walked in on you and Leah going at it like rabid dogs. Not so sure I want to be friends with that.”

To his credit, he doesn’t point out that he doesn’t have to let me stay here, but his lips are pressed together in the way that usually means he is disappointed at my lack of understanding.

My phone buzzes from my back pocket, and I hesitate before pulling it out. Honestly, the thing’s brought me nothing but bad news for the past week. A lot longer than that, actually.

The name on the screen isn’t welcome, but neither is it a surprise. It’s also the tenth time it’s come through in about two days.

“Hey, can you give me a few minutes?” I ask, feeling awkward about making claims on his home, but wanting my privacy all the same.

David shrugs and pulls out another beer. “Sure, you can talk in the bedroom.”

I nod and head to the all-too-familiar bedroom as I pick up the phone. “Hi, Dad.”

“I was expecting your voicemail. Again.”

I try to tell myself that it’s just a typical parent guilt trip, but his voice sounds a little hurt, and it makes my stomach twist.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “It’s been crazy busy moving out of the dorms and starting summer classes.”

I’ve intentionally let my dad think I’m taking classes, plural, not just a two-credit elective class that will barely even be in session. It’s the only way I could talk him into letting me stay in New York for the summer.

Not that he’s providing much financial assistance. I’ve already gotten the whole I’m not going to pay for you to live in New York for the summer when you can live in North Carolina for free speech. Don’t get me wrong—he’s paying my regular-year tuition, for which I’m completely grateful. But he’s not exactly excited at the prospect of paying additional for me to be in New York over the summer. I don’t want to push my luck and risk him withdrawing my tiny for-emergencies-only allowance.

“School’s good?” he asks.

“It’s great,” I lie. “The screenwriting guy’s a big deal from Hollywood, and it’s so cool to meet someone who’s actually been there, done that.”

“But you hate Hollywood.”

I sit on the side of David’s bed, trying not to remember that the last time I saw the bed there was a trampy redhead writhing all over it with my boyfriend.

“I don’t hate Hollywood. I’m just more into the indie artistic scene than the blockbuster stuff.”

“And thank God for that,” he grumbles. “It was hard enough to see you go off to NYU, much less UCLA.”

“So how are things down there?” I interrupt before he can go on about how I nearly moved across the country and left him behind. Never mind that he didn’t hesitate to leave me behind in every way that counted.

“Home is good, really good,” he was saying.

Even after all this time, I hate that he calls North Carolina home. But I let it go, since it’s not a fight I’m ever going to win.

“Things have been slowing down a bit at the firm,” he continues, “so I’ve had more time to spend with Amy and Chris.”

I flop back on the bed and lock my eyes on the ceiling. I know he’s waiting for me to ask about my stepmom and stepbrother, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

The silence grows and grows until he finally breaks it. “You’re too old for this, you know,” my dad says softly. “It’s been three and a half years since we’ve become a family, and the only one holding out is you.”