The Rules of Dating(102)

Maya sighed and sat down across from me. “I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you, Colby. I really am.”

If I didn’t know she had no heart, I might’ve bought her act and thought she felt bad for me. I got up from the table. “I’m going to bed.”

After I brushed my teeth and changed, my mind circled back to where it had been all afternoon. I’d been wanting to text Billie, but I didn’t want to upset her any more than I already had, so I’d refrained. Though in my current drunken state, I talked myself into believing it would be irresponsible of me not to check on her after she’d been visibly upset. I picked up my phone and laid back on my bed to type.

Colby: Hey. I’m sorry about today. I’d just tripped and split my pants. The hearing was today, and I felt like I was about to lose it. I swear it wasn’t what it looked like. Things have definitely not been fun. I want to make sure you’re okay and say I love you.

I watched as the message changed from Sent to Delivered, then a minute later finally showed as Read. I stared down at my phone, waiting for her response.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited…





CHAPTER 30


Billie



When it rains, it pours.

On top of my already miserable mood, Sunday morning I woke up to a leaky pipe under my kitchen sink that required immediate attention. The first person I thought to call was Holden, being that he was a jack of all trades and handled stuff like this all the time. Even though I didn’t live in the building, I knew he’d come over to my place with his tools and help me if I needed him. But that wasn’t an option right now. Holden was an extension of Colby. He’d run right back to Colby and tell him everything. Then Colby would think things were alright again with us when they weren’t. Things hadn’t been okay, in my mind at least, for a few days now—not since I’d run into Colby at the train station.

I did know one other plumber: Eddie Stark, AKA “Eddie Muscle,” my client I’d let take me out on a date that one time. I decided to swallow my pride and call him for help.

He agreed to come on one condition: that I join him for lunch after—as friends. He knew by now that I wasn’t interested in him romantically, so I trusted his intentions. I agreed to go to lunch as long as I got to treat him as a way to say thank you for helping me out.

Eddie had been in my kitchen for over an hour before he finally figured out what was wrong with my pipes. While I watched him work and listened to all the clanking under the sink, my mind was off in La-La-Land, replaying the scene at the subway station for the umpteenth time and alternating between seething and sad. At this point I couldn’t even be sure my memory hadn’t distorted everything, exaggerating what I’d seen and heard. I no longer had a clear picture of what had happened. Still, I continued to ruminate.

What were they laughing about?

What changed between them?

Does he like her now or something?

Should I text him back?

I really should text him back.

Hell no, I’m not texting him!

Was I wrong to get so mad?

How is Saylor? Is she laughing with them now, too?

Does she still miss me?

Are she and Maya getting close?

I felt like I was going crazy.

Yes, I knew I could’ve just contacted Colby for the answers to those questions, but my ego wouldn’t seem to let me. It had, instead, paralyzed me into inaction.

Eddie finally came up from under my sink and announced that he believed he’d fixed the issue. We ran the water repeatedly to test things, and there wasn’t a leak in sight. He was packing his stuff away when his eyes landed on something lying in my fruit bowl. “What the hell is that?”

Ugh. I meant to discard her. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” I said.

“Care to explain?”

“Not really.”

“Billie…” He lifted it. “There’s a fucking naked Barbie doll with her hair hacked off lying amidst a bunch of bananas. I need an explanation; otherwise, I’m gonna have to assume you’re into some weird, Barbie-fruit voodoo.”

I laughed. “It’s nothing like that.”

He arched a brow. “So what is it?”

“It’s an old habit from childhood.” I sighed. “Barbie’s hair was sacrificed for my mental well-being.”

“Oooh. Okay. That makes total sense.” His eyes widened as if to say “this bitch is crazy.”

“Okay, let me explain.” I took the doll from him and looked down at it. “When I was younger and got upset, I’d take one of my older Barbie dolls and snip away at her hair, strand by strand, until there was nothing left. Something about that process was therapeutic for me. Sort of like one of those resistance balls you squeeze when you’re stressed. Or popping bubblewrap.”

He crossed his arms and laughed. “Yeah, sort of like that… But batshit crazy. I get it.”

I couldn’t blame him for thinking it was nuts, but he’d asked for an explanation.

“Something happened a few days ago,” I told him. “That night I was so frustrated that I went to the five-dollar-and-under store for candy to stress-eat and picked up a cheap, generic Barbie, too. Hadn’t done it in years.”