Listen to Your Heart(23)

“Oh, Lyns, I don’t want Toby to see me like this. Besides, shouldn’t one of us be at work? We can’t both be slackers.”

“I won’t let Toby in the apartment. And Robyn knows how to reach me. Let’s go.”

My muscles protest as I slowly climb out of bed. While Lynsey calls her husband, I find some clothes and head to the bathroom. The bubble bath is heaven, even if the lavender scent reminds of my favorite blanket that I’ll now have to burn.

Caleb’s really ruined everything.

I close my eyes, willing the warm bath to work its magic. Thank goodness Nick cashed in some vacation days, because I would have been a terrible aunt this weekend.

I have to get my shit together.

This isn’t me. I don’t wallow over a guy, especially one that I’ve known for such a short period of time. Still, the connection was intense. We both felt it. Caleb might be a liar and a cheat, but I don’t think he faked every minute of our time together. The sweet kisses. The hot kisses. His powerful but gentle embrace while we slept on the couch. The way his eyes lit up every single time I walked in the room.

Guys can’t fake that.

Can they?

Could it be cold feet, like Lynsey suggested? Maybe he doesn’t want to get married. Is that why he’s been so uninvolved with the wedding planning?

Come to think of it, Juliana hasn’t been too interested, either. Unlike most brides, she’s been more than happy to give Lynsey a platinum card with instructions to go wild. Besides the date and location, we’ve pretty much been given free rein about everything from the bridal bouquet to the reception menu. That never happens.

Nothing makes sense.

I want answers, but at the same time, I don’t. Caleb is engaged to another woman, and the wedding is two months away. If Caleb and Juliana want to break off their engagement, that’s up to them, but I will not be the catalyst.

I will not be the other woman.

Ever.

After drying my hair, I head to the living room to find Lynsey on my couch with a large pizza and a bottle of wine.

“No Toby?”

“I told him this was a girls-only breakup party. He was more than happy to leave the booze and run for the hills.”

With a laugh, I curl up on the couch and grab the remote. Lynsey starts to throw the blanket over us, but I reach for it and hurl it across the room.

She arches an eyebrow.

“We’re burning that.”

“Okay . . . so, I was thinking Can’t Buy Me Love on Netflix,” Lynsey says, pointing to the TV. “I thought it might be gratifying to watch Patrick Dempsey get the shit slapped out of him.”

“Good call.”

While I find the movie, Lynsey pours two glasses of wine and passes me a paper plate with a huge slice of pepperoni and sausage. It smells great, and my stomach doesn’t somersault, so I take a bite.

“Can I just say one more thing about the Caleb situation?” she asks in between bites.

“Just one more.”

“I’m happy to kill the account if you want.”

I shake my head. “No. Let Macy help.”

“I thought you wanted her fired.”

“I wanted a lot of things before my bubble bath. I’m a little saner now.”

Lynsey grins.

“Seriously, Lyns, it’s a huge account with zero budget. There’s no reason our business should suffer just because I made a stupid, unprofessional decision.”

“You mean like falling for the groom?”

I chug my wine.

“That’s another thing,” Lynsey says, frowning. “Why no budget? Have we ever planned a wedding without a budget?”

“Nope.”

“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Is it because they have money to burn? Or do they really just not give a shit?”

“No clue. Can we watch the movie now?”

She nods and I push play. For the next two hours, I get lost in the movie, the pizza, the wine, and my best friend. We laugh and cry and laugh some more, and when it’s time for her to leave, she gives me a bone-crushing hug.

“This is going to work out. I know it.”

“There’s nothing to work out, Lyns. It’s done.”

She nods. “See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.”

It’s late, so I toss the pizza box and empty bottle in the trash and head to my bedroom. The place reeks, so I strip the sheet and quilt and toss them in the hamper before finding fresh linens in the closet. After clearing the nightstand of the reminders of my weekend booze binge, I climb into bed and bury myself under the clean blanket.

Wallowing is over.

Tomorrow is a new day.

And I’m going to be okay.





Five days.

I’ve tried to reach her for five days. I’ve left a million voice mails and texts. I’ve called her work—now that I know where she works—so much that now the receptionist recognizes my voice when I say hello. Her name’s Robyn, and, while Robyn’s courteous and professional, I can tell she’s not too happy with me. I’m not stupid. I know girls talk. So I can only assume the entire place knows what a scumbag I am. During our last call, however, Robyn did slip and say that Skye had taken a few sick days, but I know better. She’s not sick. She’s avoiding the real world. She’s avoiding me.