The Plight Before Christmas(42)

Evie: I didn’t talk you into shit. All I did was keep you from backing out.

She wants nothing to do with me.

Evie: I told you it wouldn’t be easy. What did you expect?

I don’t know. I’m thinking about bailing. Mind calling and giving me an excuse to jet?

Evie: This is the opposite of what you set out to do, and that isn’t who you are anymore. Correction, it isn’t who you want to be, remember? Your words, not mine.

I know. You’re right.

Evie: Then see this through.

I’m telling you it feels pointless.

Evie: Do you really want to leave?

Her family is amazing. We’re getting along well.

Evie: Out with it, Eli.

Biting my lip, I glance over at Whitney, who’s mindlessly sorting through her purchases before typing back.

No, I don’t want to leave. I’m still crazy attracted to her, and we haven’t even had a real conversation. But I fucked up and came onto her like an idiot, and she shut down. The crazy part? I know she feels it too.

Evie: Figure out a way to get the truth out. Blurt it if you have to. Or do you want to regret it for seventeen more years?

That’s a bit dramatic.

Evie: I just want my best friend happy. I think you need this more than you realize. I’m here if you need me.

Did I ever tell you that you’re the best ex-girlfriend a guy could ask for?

Evie: Many times. I just wish you would have been this worthy when we dated.

Sorry.

Evie: I’m really not. I got the husband of my dreams after dusting you. Besides, I wasn’t the girl you wanted to be worthy of. And you are worthy, Eli, so very worthy.

It’s too late. This is fucking crazy.

Evie: Just try to be her friend if you can manage that, make the best of your time there, tell her the truth, and go home.

10/4

Evie: I’m sorry, Eli.

Kicking back in my seat, I flit my gaze out the window as my thoughts drift as they have so many times since I saw the picture in Brenden’s living room.

“I’m sorry?” Whitney gapes at me as I grip her arm and steer her down the hallway toward the exit.

“That’s twice you’ve stood me up,” I say, bursting out the side door as she gawks at the hand I have encircling her arm.

“Well, accosting me on campus isn’t going to change my mind.”

Releasing her, I crowd her a little against the building, determined to get an explanation as more students file out of the door. Despite our foot difference in height and my pissed expression, she stares up at me with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. She’s loving every second of this.

“Tell me what your problem is.”

“My problem?” She presses a hand to her chest. “You’re the one who can’t take a hint.”

“And you’re the one wearing an inch-long skirt because you know I have a thing for your legs.”

“Wow, you’re reaching.”

“Am I? Fine. Let’s say you aren’t bullshitting. At least have the decency to tell me why I’ve spent two hours of my life staring at the entrance of the coffee house wondering why I’m unworthy of your time and attention.”

“Two words, Campus Casanova.”

“Jesus, really?” I’ve heard it more than once, especially during track season last year, and somehow it stuck. “That’s bullshit based on absolutely zero fact.”

She shrugs. “Rumors are often based on some version of the truth.”

“Fine, I want my sweatshirt back.”

Her eyes dim. “Well, you’re not getting it.”

“Whatever, take care, Whitney.”

Regripping my backpack, I turn and make it mere feet away before she speaks up. “I’m not a one-and-done-girl.”

Turning, I see her legs are stinging red due to the cold and take a step toward her.

“A date, that’s all I asked for, and I’m not even sure I like you anymore.”

She grins. “Then this date isn’t going well already.”

“Nuh huh, I’m picking a new time, new place.”

“Fine, where?”

“I’ll let you know. And wear pants, you know, just to be on the safe side,” I quip, letting her see my exaggerated eye roll before I turn and walk off.

“Hey, Casanova,” she calls, clear flirtation in her voice as I fake annoyance, looking back at her over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Were you really going to give up?”

She shivers in the cold as I slide my gaze down her frame, “I guess you’ll never know.”

The close of the SUV doors prompts my own exit as Whitney follows her parents toward the front door of the cabin. Halfway up the steps, Whitney glances back at me, and I’m right back there, staring at her in her inch-long skirt, asking myself the same question as she looks at me thoughtfully before she turns and heads into the house. My answer rings in as clearly as it did on campus that day as I walked back to my apartment.

Fuck no.




“Could you hand me some gumdrops, Eli?” Gracie asks as she plasters her gingerbread house with more frosting. Even so, it’s clear to me it’s not her first rodeo by the way she’s expertly piping it on with the baker’s bag.