Crazy Girl(19)

She snorted. “I want to be the friend that tells you it wasn’t that bad, he’ll call, but I’d never lie to you.”

“I don’t know what happened. It was like everything I said, he’d make some comment about me being…bitter.”

“He called you bitter?”

“No, not that word exactly. But he implied it. A lot.”

“How so?”

“It was just the way he was. He made me feel like I was…too forceful or…asking too much, too fast.”

“Were you?” She tilted her head. “Coming on too strong?”

I let out a groan. “No…” I knew that wasn’t exactly true. “Snarky, maybe,” I admitted. “But my comments weren’t so extreme, they were more…little quips. They were hardly worth acknowledging.”

“Apparently they were enough for him.”

“Well the more he mentioned them, the snarkier I got. I was saying all these things to him, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was outside my body watching me act insane, and I knew I sounded crazy, but I literally couldn’t stop myself. They seemed to make sense at the time.”

“Hannah.” She said my name softly. “You gotta get outside of your head. It’s a little high-strung in there. That’s not you, babe.”

Her words hit hard. I liked to think of myself as a rational woman with realistic ideas and expectations. A realist. That’s the best word I’d use to describe myself. I relied on facts because blind faith was too much. Too many people in my life had said they were one way when really they were another. I couldn’t just take someone at their word anymore—I looked to facts. And with Wren, the facts didn’t look so great.

Fact One: He had a job he wouldn’t discuss that apparently he rarely got time off from. Maybe he was telling the truth, or maybe he was a clever man using his employment as a tool to keep women at bay.

Fact Two: He found it difficult to give a time frame. Probably was waiting to see if he could line up something better for the evening, and if he didn’t, he’d agree to meet me.

Fact Three: He was single. Okay, fine, I was single, too. But he was almost forty and according to him, had never married. It wasn’t so farfetched to believe he hadn’t met “the one,” but it still raised a red flag.

Fact Four: He was socially dominant. Guys with that kind of personality were notorious for being players and/or hard to get to commit.

I, more than anything in the world, wanted to not think about and analyze everything, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop myself. I knew Courtney was right. I did come on too strong. These “facts” weren’t deal breakers, I just made them that way. I would never be able to find happiness with anyone, whether it be Wren or another man, until I got out of my head and just went with it. But I wasn’t sure I could do it. I was cynical, and it was killing me. It kept me lonely, hiding. And it was destroying my career because I was incapable of writing about love when I couldn’t even make it through one measly date.

“I know. My craziness aside, it wouldn’t have worked with him anyway.”

“Why is that?” she asked, her tone sounding somewhat annoyed.

“Because I’m…me. And he’s…him.”

“Him?” I stared directly at the screen and sighed. Her mouth was flat and she was staring at me blankly.

“Dominant, great-looking, successful…ya know…put together. Everything I’m not.”

“Hannah, before right now he didn’t sound so perfect either. In my opinion, you both sound like nutjobs.”

“I don’t know about him, but I am most definitely a nutjob,” I muttered. She mumbled in agreement, her tone equally remorse. I continued defending my case, “I’m being a realist. These are facts. I know I’m attractive, I’m smart…I know there are good things about me. But those few things don’t make me an ideal person to date. Not right now anyway. I’m not on his level, and the sooner I accept that, the better off I’ll be.”

She smiled, but it lacked humor. It was more like she didn’t know what to do or say so she had no choice but to laugh. Jesus. I was bringing her down. “Hannah. One day you will see what we see.”

I nodded but decided to try changing the subject. I didn’t want to talk about me or my insanity anymore. I gave positivity a chance for a change. “There were a few moments…a few times where we seemed to sync. We did laugh, some.” I thought of his smile, our banter. Those had been good moments. Throughout the night, occasionally he’d touched me and I’d felt that thrill. I hadn’t minded him touching me…which was weird considering how on edge I’d been all night. A part of me wondered if it was because it had been quite some time since a man had touched me. Although I was guarded, that didn’t mean I didn’t have physical needs. It wasn’t just that, though. He didn’t touch me sexually—he touched me as if he were trying to say something to me. It was a bit baffling. Maybe, subconsciously, it was positive reinforcement? Maybe when the softer moments of the night arose, he felt safe to show me affection? I refused to admit it out loud, but I missed that affection. I missed being desired.

“I’m going to bed.” Yawning, I waved. “My eyes hurt.”