Repeat(42)

“She’s not wrong.”

“And you honestly thought you could do that with me? I mean, it just seems like from what you’ve said . . .”

He rolls onto his side, studying me. “Clem, you weren’t as bad as I’ve been making it sound. I probably haven’t been as positive about how you used to be as I could have. When everything goes to hell you tend to focus on the worst. Guess it’s a method of self-preservation. A way to convince yourself you’re better off without the other person in your life.”

“That makes sense.”

“But lots of people liked you. Don’t think you were a bad person or something. After all, everyone has their faults.” He takes a moment, like he’s thinking things over. Choosing his words with care. “I guess you were less sure of yourself before. Now if you’re thrown by something, you kind of just barrel on regardless most of the time. Things don’t seem to worry you as much.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Not saying you don’t get worried about things, but they don’t weigh you down in the same way.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

He shrugs. “It’s just you. And you used to be hopeless at admitting when you’d gotten something wrong. Stubborn as all hell. Forget about getting an apology out of you. Now you can’t seem to stop apologizing.”

“Wait. How does being a neurotic wreck fit with being a stubborn jerk?”

“I never said you were a neurotic wreck. Just that you tended to worry over things.”

“And then never admit I was wrong.”

“Basically.”

Holy hell. “I must have been amazing in the sack.”

Ed bursts out laughing.

“Quick, tell me something terrible about you. I need it.”

“I was a shit boyfriend,” he says, quieting once again. “Because something was obviously going on with you and had been for a while and I completely fucking missed it. Maybe if I hadn’t been so busy with work, if I’d taken more time for us, things wouldn’t have gone the way they did. We might have still been together. And you wouldn’t have been out alone that night and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

I don’t know what to say.

“Who knows?”

“You can’t take all of that on yourself.”

He says nothing.

“Can I make a comment without it being weird?”

“Considering the dick piercing question, I’m not actually sure it’s possible for things to get any weirder.”

I smile a little. “Right. Well, I just wanted to say this is nice, us talking.”

“Yes, it is.” He exhales. “Did Tessa give you a hard time?”

“It was fine. I handled it. She cares about you.”

“We’ve been friends a long time. You two used to get along,” he says. “It’d be nice if you could get back to something like that. Having your old friends back might be helpful.”

I wince ever so slightly. Tessa is more likely to throttle me than want to swap pedicures anytime soon. But I’ll let the man dream.

“I’ve started making some new friends. The other day, the guy from the café across the road from the bookstore asked me if I wanted to go to a movie sometime.”

His gaze narrows. “What’d you say?”

“Told him I’d think about it. But I’m not sure that would be a good idea for me just yet. Unless he meant as just a friendship thing. That could be okay.”

“Always good to have friends,” he says.

“I agree. But actual relationships seem complicated and I’m confused enough the bulk of the time. As well as everything else, I lost about a decade’s worth of knowledge about how dating works.”

“Yeah, I guess you did. How’s your reading going?”

“Good, I, ah . . . this one I’m into now is Ice Blue by Anne Stuart. Iris said it’s a romantic suspense classic. Not to be missed.”

“You’ll have to let me know how that goes.”

It doesn’t escape me how our conversation has been steered toward safer subjects. Which is fine. We’re talking like friends. Or people with a complicated past who might become friends. It’s nice. Yet his hand lies on the mattress, close to me, though in all the ways that matter, still out of reach. His fingers are bigger than mine, his hand larger. My jealousy at previous me reaches an all-time high. She could have just touched him whenever she wanted. The memories she must have had. Lucky bitch.

“What are you thinking about now?” he asks, voice quiet. The night is so still. The whole world contained in this one room.

“You really care what I think about that much?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do.”

It feels both sweet and sour, this statement. Both painful and pleasing.

“I like how I ask and you tell me. No guessing. No wondering if I’m missing something again,” he says. “You just let me know where you’re at. It’s good. Very good.”

“Honestly, I think you short circuit my brain.”

“The feeling’s entirely mutual.”

My gaze jumps from his fingers to his face. “Really?”