Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(36)

“Definitely fake. I’m not sure how many people are really on there for true love anymore.”

Trevor watches the group date with intense curiosity. This one involves the girls getting down and dirty at some random farm, shoveling manure and pretending to love every second. When this season’s front-runner, Bethan, pops on-screen, Trevor deems her “hot.”

I roll my eyes. “Meh. She’s one of those types who thinks liking sports over girly things is a personality trait.”

By the time the one-on-one with shy girl Piper comes around, Trevor is hooked. “Is Wyatt really gonna send her home because she didn’t tell him her life story on the first date? They hardly know each other.”

“On The Bachelor, unloading dark secrets and rehashing childhood trauma is the key to getting the rose. You need to get personal, and fast.” I dash to the kitchen to grab a fresh bag of BBQ chips from the pantry.

When I return to the couch, he absentmindedly reaches for a handful. “Oh, looks like he’s kissing her anyway.”

“You say that like you haven’t kissed half the women in Boston.”

He stops to look at me, mid-bite. “Well, not in front of a bunch of people, at least. Imagine making out with all the TV crew around. Knowing it’ll be broadcast to the world.”

“Why do you hate PDA so much? It’s kind of cute, to declare your love for someone in front of others.”

“Nope. Kissing and cuddling in public is weird. No one wants to see that.”

“Maybe not full-on tongue make-outs. But pecks and cuddles in public are adorable.”

He shudders. “No.”

“Let me guess, you’re not into affection in general.” I side-eye him. “You hate cuddles, don’t you?”

“I don’t mind cuddling. But only with women I have serious feelings for.”

I nearly swallow a potato chip whole, springboarding off the opportunity to pry about Angie. “Women you have serious feelings for, huh? Like your gorgeous exes, Natalie and Kyla? Or . . . someone else?”

He keeps his lips tight and shrugs, obviously enjoying my burning desire to know. “You’re always asking questions about me, but I never get the chance to ask about you.”

My brows knit together. “You already know everything about me.”

“Not everything. You never actually told me what happened with you and Seth.”

Damn. I didn’t expect that. I examine my split ends, suddenly unnerved. “Seth is . . . just . . . I don’t know. He sucks.”

“Why were you engaged to him if he sucks?” His tone isn’t judgmental. More curious.

“That’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

I keep examining my hair, mustering up a logical explanation. “Okay. Fine. When I first met Seth, he was finishing his pediatric residency. He was still technically a student, getting his certifications at the same time. He was shy, sweet, almost timid. Wicked smart, at the top of his class but didn’t brag. I was so attracted to him because of his passion for his job. He was the young doctor who cared a little more than the others. He took extra time to reassure his patients’ parents. He was really well loved.”

“What changed?” he asks, reaching for the chips.

I pass him the bag. “A few things. He was—technically, he is—a great doctor. And that went to his head, fast. Status, as well as the money. Once he got that first paycheck, he just changed. Started buying lavish things. Showered me with gifts. He’s one of those people who will make you feel like the center of the universe. But when he’s not shining his light on you, you might as well be a frozen-tundra dwarf planet in the darkest, most inhospitable corner of the galaxy.”

“Must have been tough seeing him change into a different person.”

I stretch my arms over my head and yawn. “Yeah. We fought about it all the time. I was desperate for things to go back to how they were in the beginning . . . so I panicked and proposed.”

Two years into our relationship, I planned an elaborate proposal (if Monica Geller could do it, why couldn’t I?). With him as a man who’d just discovered power, I may as well have castrated him with a rusty spoon.

“And he said yes?”

“Yup. He said he felt pressured because his parents were pushing him to settle down since he was finally done with school. He was never involved in wedding planning. He got super cranky about anything to do with it.”

The resentment had been a slow, demoralizing build. I buried myself deep in wedding planning while he decided to spend the remainder of his unmarried time like someone with just one month left to live. While he worked hard, he also played hard. On his days off, he gambled carelessly at the casino; went on random trips with his new, wealthy friends; and impulse-purchased a luxury sports car.

I handled this new side of him about as well as I handle all other change: like a jellyfish trying to do ballet. I accused him of having a quarter-life crisis. He accused me of being a twenty out of ten on the Richter scale of crazy. And then we were done. Just like that.

“Anyway, when he finally broke things off, he told me I was too much for him. Too needy. And that he didn’t love me anymore. Wasn’t sure if he ever had.” I hang my head. The memory of those words still stings. “You think I’m pathetic, don’t you?”