You're to Blame(56)

“Hey, you going to let me in or just stand in the damn way?” At the sound of Duke’s voice, I freeze. What is he doing here? It’s been four days, and he hasn’t texted or called. My mind plays devils advocate, reminding me I didn’t text or call either. After our run, things felt off. Maybe it was my visit to the hospital or just the heaviness we both felt.

I brush my hands over my hairline, preying I don’t look like a complete mess. My excitement to see him is quickly smothered by my anger for his lack of communication. He’s the guy. He should’ve called. It’s called chivalry. He opens car doors for fucks sake.

“Be my guest.” Lydia holds the door, gesturing for Duke to enter.

When he does, his hands are full of groceries. Rachel scurries to her feet and takes two bags of Duke’s load.

“Thank you, unlike Lydia who would let me carry them in myself.” He glares over his shoulder, and Lydia sticks her tongue out as she bounces back to the couch.

“Why are you even here, anyway? I told you it was girls’ night,” Lydia shrieks, stretching to see him in the kitchen.

Duke drops his bags onto the counter. “Did you tell me that?” He shakes his head. “It’s Sunday, which means Sunday dinner.”

“No, I’m positive, Duke. I told you I had to bail because of girls’ night.” Lydia rolls her eyes.

Duke starts unloading groceries onto the counter, glancing at me every few seconds. I force myself to act like I’m not affected by his presence mere feet from me, and I’m not able to reach out and touch him. What happened between us isn’t a secret, but then again, I’m not sure I’m ready to take a billboard out announcing Duke and I had sex.

“How much have you all had to drink?” Duke eyes the countertop. Empty wine bottles, the sangria pitcher, and a bottle of tequila earn us a frown.

“Okay, Dad.” Lydia laughs. “We didn’t invite you over to judge us.”

I sweat like I’ve just started going through puberty and don’t quite know what to do with my body. My finger drags along the rim of my cup while I glance at Duke through my eyelashes.

Why won’t he address me, acknowledge I’m here with more than just a fleeting glance?

“Fuck this,” I whisper, pushing off the couch. “Do you need any help?” A part of me wants him to say yes, but when he turns to me, he nods his chin to the living room. His eyes flick to mine, then drag down to my mouth.

“Go relax with the girls. That’s what you came here for.” Duke proceeds to work.

“That was your opening to make this situation a little less shitty, by the way.” I go back to the living room, my breathing labored. Anxiety builds like a volcano ready to erupt. Apparently, we aren’t going to talk about what happened between us.

Rachel and Lydia are arguing over which movie is better, Clueless or Mean Girls.

Act natural, Charlotte. Walk in there with your head held high like you haven’t just been knocked off your blissful high horse. Don’t let them see you falling apart. It’s like Jacob all over again.

“I have to go with Lydia on this one, Rach. Clueless wins easily.” I force a laugh and plop down on the couch.

“We going to finish this game or what?” Lydia asks, abandoning their argument.

“Charlotte, you were up. Answer her question,” Rachel goads. She knows my number. Up until recently, my number was one.

“Yeah, how many people have you slept with? If you don’t answer, then you have to take a shot.” Lydia runs to the kitchen and comes back with a shot glass and the tequila. “We all know how much you love this stuff.” She taunts me with the bottle, rocking it back and forth in her hands.

Duke’s back is turned, and he clears his throat, but never shifts to look in my direction. The only visible proof of him hearing Lydia’s question is his shoulders rolling forward and back.

“Can you ignore the second one if he doesn’t bother to call?” My harsh response is a direct hit. If Duke thinks it’s okay to not call me after we hooked up, then I’m going to call him on it.

Duke jerks around, and I hold my hand up before he takes a step towards me.

Lydia looks between the two of us. Her mouth opens wide as she takes in what’s transpiring.

Duke’s throat bobs up and down, and fire burns in his eyes. He’s angry and it’s boiling, readying to spill out. What does he have to be upset about?

“What other questions do you have?” Why is my cup empty? If I close my eyes, maybe I could wish for more sangria to help me ignore the weird tension in the room.

“What’s something I don’t even know?” Rachel’s voice is hurried. She’s trying to save all of us from the misery my outburst has caused by changing the subject.

I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but I don’t feel restricted. It’s like I could say anything at all, and no one will judge me.

“Sometimes, things aren’t what they seem.” I’ve been writing this in my journal. It’s the truth I owe Duke but can’t muster the will to tell him.

Duke scoffs. His reaction has me ready to air all our dirty laundry.

“Oh yeah, what about you, Duke? What’s something no one knows? Not even Lydia?” I test him. I was upset before, but now, I’m pissed. Who does he think he is?