The Relationship Pact(55)

“That’s deep,” I say.

“It’s the truth. Stop focusing on the Combine and getting your shit together and all that crap. Figure out who you’re going to spend your time with and work from that angle. I’m telling you, man. This is where we’re wrong. It’s why we’re struggling.”

“Eh, I don’t think I’m really struggling,” I lie.

He scoffs. “You’re struggling more than all of us. Like it or not.”

This is why I called River and not Crew. I needed his raw and unedited truth.

But maybe I should’ve called Crew. He would’ve used lube.

I look at the sky and wish I could just fly away to an island somewhere by myself.

“I don’t have a Vermont like you. There is no Ana. I don’t have someone to take care of or a fucking farm that’s a family treasure like Hollywood. I have me. And that’s not as simple as it seems.”

“I lived with you for four years. I’m pretty sure I know that.”

I grin. “Then you know that being me is not conducive to attracting people who want to stick around.”

“Promise me something,” he says.

“Dude, no. What is this? You’ve been spending way too much time with women.”

He laughs. “Trust me on this.”

“Will you dedicate your first self-help book to me?”

“I give up.” He yawns. “Okay. I gotta get going. Mom was up at like four this morning, and I need to try to take a quick nap before I run her to the doc in a couple of hours.”

“Tell her I’m thinking of her.”

“I will. Thanks, Hollis.”

“Of course.”

“Think about what I said,” he says.

“Yes, Dr. Phil.”

He snorts. “You’re an asshole.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

I end the call and slip my phone back into my pocket.

If life was fair and things could be good, I’d like to see Larissa’s face every day. But I can’t do that to her. It wouldn’t be fair.

I turn around to go to the hotel, but my phone buzzes in my pocket. I stop walking and pull it out, expecting a follow-up text from River.

It’s not.



Larissa: Hey! I have a box of Ding Dongs over here and was thinking about getting a pizza. Know anyone who would like to hang out and watch a movie or something?



I walk again, my pace quickening. My fingers fly over the phone.



Me: I could find you someone.



Her response is immediate.



Larissa: I like football players.

Me: Shit. That narrows it down. I’m retired.

Larissa: Well, former players can work. I’m not *that* picky.



I can’t help myself. I smile.



Me: Any other requirements?

Larissa: Nice abs.

Me: That definitely narrows down the field.

Larissa: An amazing voice.

Me: Eh, widens the field again.

Larissa: IT DOES NOT.

Me: LOL

Larissa: Fine. I’d prefer a guy who has amazing abs, buys perfect gifts (I haven’t taken it off!), and has recent experience fucking me on a rooftop.



Immediately, my cock gets hard, and all thoughts of River’s ridiculous theories are pushed to the wayside.



Me: I know a guy. What time should he be there?

Larissa: Around six-ish?

Me: I’ll see you then.

Larissa: Oh, so it’s you? <winks>

Me: If anyone else meets those requirements, I’d love for them to show up.

Larissa: See you tonight. <heart emoji>



I stare at her final text before pressing the button on the side of my phone.

What can it hurt to spend a little more time with her?

“I don’t know,” I say as I walk across the street, “but we’re about to find out.”





Seventeen





Larissa





I’m weak.

I knock the new box of Ding Dongs over, and they hit the counter with a thud.

“The things I’ll do for a set of abs,” I mutter to myself.

Even though I know that’s not totally true—and it’s definitely not even the start of why I texted Hollis earlier today—it’s still embarrassing because it’s rooted in truth.

I went around and around, trying to convince myself it was okay to invite him over.

He has nowhere else to go.

We’re friends.

He’s leaving town soon, so I should see him while I can.

He might be hungry.

That last one was the thing that put me over the edge. I could rationalize that.

I would be a bad person if I didn’t invite him over, dammit!

I nearly talked myself out of it after talking to Bellamy. Her advice was to invite him over, answer the door naked, and then to ask him if he was hungry.

“I’m just being a good hostess,” I affirm. “I’m doing the Lord’s work here.”

My laughter turns into a groan as I feel myself slipping. I’ve been fighting it—and doing a damn good job—but I’m a mortal.