Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(34)

The pinks in their cheeks darken to crimson with secondhand embarrassment as I rattle off the grisly details of last night.

“Wait, Trevor went on the date with you and Wanderlust Brandon?” Mel asks.

“I’m not sure why you’re getting dating advice from Trevor. He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong. But he wouldn’t know a relationship from his ass,” Crystal remarks, holier than thou.

I don’t know why, but I feel an overwhelming urge to come to his defense. “Didn’t he give you solid advice for grand-gesturing Scotty?” Last summer, Crystal broke up with Scott temporarily when a photo of the two of them went viral and a bunch of trolls fat-shamed her. Trevor helped her orchestrate a grand apology right here in the gym where they first met.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Give him some credit. He’s not a total nimrod.” My tone is terse, raising their suspicions.

“But why would Trevor give up his night to supervise your date? Do you think he likes you?” Mel asks.

“No. It’s not as weird as you make it sound.” I pause for a moment as they both watch me, appalled on my behalf. “I mean . . . okay. I made things weird with the kiss. But I’m gonna apologize tonight. It’ll be fine. I’ll blame it on the alcohol. Things will go back to normal,” I say assuredly, more to myself than them.

Mel’s concern transitions into a knowing grin. “I think you should sleep with him. Just once. Get it out of your system.”

I shudder at the thought of a one-night stand. With my roommate. Of all people. “God, no. Do you even read the romance books I loan you? Every time romance characters have sex to get it out of their systems, they end up hopelessly attached. And besides, Trevor doesn’t like me that way.” I look away, suddenly very interested in the woman near the window squatting what appears to be my body weight.

Since move-in day, I’ve lived with the truth that I am not Trevor’s type. I held on to that fact with pride, like a lifeline. Without the unspoken sanctity of our strictly platonic relationship, my perfectly stable living situation goes straight down the tube.

“And he’s definitely not your type,” Crystal echoes, with a pinch more force than necessary.

“Well, my type is trash, apparently,” I grumble, thinking of Jeff. “So it kind of leaves it open to interpretation.”

“A die-hard, emotional romantic and a guy who only believes in one kind of happy ending? That’s a recipe for disaster if I ever saw one.” She resumes her butterfly crunches.

I frown. “Why are you looking at me like I need an intervention?”

Mid-crunch, Crystal levels me with a hard stare. “Because I know how you get. You get obsessed. Dickmatized, as the great Ali Wong would say. You would fall in love with a tree branch if you spent enough time with it.”

“Okay, rude. I have standards,” I shoot back.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, you have a tendency to fall hard and fast . . . I mean, you had a crush on the mailman at Mom and Dad’s. The stock boy at Trader Joe’s. The DJ at Grandma Flo’s wedding.” Crystal is anything but a sugarcoater.

My first instinct is to go on the defensive and remind her of her own crappy exes. But to be fair, she isn’t saying anything that isn’t true.

I’ve been this way my entire life, misinterpreting kindness for affection, ready to launch into fantasy mode at any given moment (He looked in my general direction, so it must mean he wants me to be his wife. Right?). I’m like an overenthusiastic dad on a trampoline who jumps a little too far to the left and lands crotch-first on the springs.

Perhaps the most pathetic part is that I’ve been in a staring contest with my phone all day, waiting for Trevor to text me. To say something. Anything. To acknowledge what happened. When my phone screen illuminates in my hand with a notification from Instagram, I check my texts for the seventy-fifth time, confirming I have exactly zero.

I desperately need to get my priorities in order, which do not include Trevor, who is so fundamentally wrong for me, it’s almost laughable. I must keep my eye on the prize, securing my second-chance love story, definitely not getting my heart broken yet again.

“Trust me, if I was thirsting over Trevor, you’d know. I wouldn’t stop talking about him. And besides, he’s made it quite clear he’s not interested in me. He’s probably with another woman right now,” I say, wincing at the thought. “And I’m pretty sure he’s having a torrid affair with a married woman who’s the love of his life.”

Crystal readjusts her messy topknot. “Impossible. He’s a straight-up man-whore. Not for you. You’ve come so far since Seth and the wedding. You’re finally happy again, living on your own. I just don’t want Trevor bludgeoning all your progress to death.”

“Don’t forget, men are a burden. Seriously,” Mel adds.

They’re right. They’re both completely right, and I know it. The last thing I need is to pack up my life for the third time this year. I need stability, desperately.

“I know. You don’t have to worry. I’m focusing entirely on my exes.”

Crystal looks unconvinced. “Promise?”

“Promise,” I say with conviction, despite the strange bubble in my throat as the words come out.