The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(89)

“Later, brothuh. I’m heading to Holly’s,” he says, showing us both the peace sign and then grabbing his bike from the entryway and carrying it over his shoulder out the door.

“Holly?” I ask, when the door closes.

“Some chick that works at the coffee stand. He’s been hanging out with her the last few weeks. She gives me free coffee. It’s cool,” Casey says, opening up a porn site on his laptop.

“Are you trying to see how fast you can get another virus?” I ask.

“Dude, that was only because I went to the questionable sites. This one’s legit. It requires a credit card and everything,” he says.

“You’re shit when it comes to money,” I laugh, leaning back again and shutting my eyes.

It’s quiet for a few seconds; I lift my arms and peer to my right over to Casey. He’s not looking at the computer any more. Instead, it’s on the table, and he’s staring at me with his arms crossed.

“Are you like this because Paige left?” he asks, finally.

“Like what?” I ask. He’s irritating me. I don’t even know why I came here.

“Like…an *. Like that,” he says.

I grimace. “Whatever,” I say, covering my eyes with my arms again.

“You really liked that chick, huh?” he says, standing and walking into his kitchen. He comes back with two beers, tossing me one. It’s early enough, so I crack it open and take a big drink.

“Yeah. I really liked that chick,” I say, my eyes letting the television fall in and out of focus. This show is really lame. “Why do you even watch this crap?”

“Because it’s funny to see people hurt themselves. Now focus,” Casey says, leaning forward, pushing his laptop closer to me.

“What is that?” I ask, as he pulls open a window for a dating website. I shut his laptop. “Don’t be stupid.” I wince, because it reminds me of the one time I called Paige stupid. I sink back into my chair and rub my eyes again.

“Okay, so do we want to look for someone like Paige? Or are we thinking we want to look for someone nothing like Paige?” he says. I pull my fingers away to make eye contact. He’s being serious.

“Dude, stop it,” I say.

“Oh I’m filling this out. And you’re going on a date. I don’t care if it’s a rebound date,” he says, typing. Shit…he’s typing.

“Casey, I’m not going out with some girl I met on the Internet,” I say.

“Why?” he asks. Still typing. He won’t f*cking stop typing.

“Because…the same reasons why Paige moved out—why I’m not dating Paige,” I say.

“And those reasons are?” he asks.

Typing.

“Because I have Leah.” I say. He doesn’t even acknowledge I’ve talked. “Because I’m twenty-one. Paige was only eighteen. Not that her age matters, but no girl is going to look at my relationship résumé and think I’m a catch. That three-year difference looks like a decade, real fast.”

“Yeah, dude…people with kids are all dead inside and shit. Not allowed to be attracted to hot girls, bad in bed,” he deadpans.

“Okay, now f*ck you,” I respond. I finish my beer and put my feet up. I’m going to be here for a while. As irritating as Casey is right now, it’s a hell of a lot better than being alone.

“You’re an awesome catch,” he says after a long period of silence. When I turn my head his direction, he’s looking at me. I laugh at his absurdity. “No, man. I mean look—you’re an excellent cook who can fix hard drives and hack into things.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m putting on my online dating profile,” I roll my eyes.

“Oh, wait…you know what? Yes! I’m adding that,” he says. He’s typing again. I grab the throw pillow from the floor and wedge it behind my neck and shut my eyes, slipping in and out of a nap to the rain sounds of Casey’s hunting and pecking on the keyboard.



* * *



I pull into the driveway at the same time as my mom and Leah. My daughter has had a day filled with play and fun. I hate that I’m about to ruin that. Maybe she’ll take it okay.

My mom’s eyes are locked on mine, trying to convey to me to play this one carefully. I’m not sure what options I really have, though, so I follow them both inside, carrying her Hello Kitty backpack filled with coloring books and crayons, hooking it on the back of a kitchen chair once we get inside.

“You know what Madison let me do?” Leah asks. She’s excited to tell me something; I can tell by the way she’s standing on her tippy toes, like she wants to get the words to me faster.

“No, what did she let you do?” I ask, scooping Leah up on my hip, and carrying her up the stairs. Maybe she’ll be so distracted by this story to feel sad about the news I’m going to give her at the top.

“She let me ride her pony,” Leah beams.

“Did she?” I ask. Great, now she’s going to want a real pony.

“Uh huh! And I fed it a carrot. And then we watched it poop,” she giggles. I laugh with her, not letting myself look at the closed door across the hall from me.

“Well that sounds like you had a pretty good day,” I say.