Kiss and Don't Tell(108)

“Great.” I smile at him. “Okay, well . . .”

“Yeah.” He steps to the side. “Thanks for the chat, Winnie. It was good seeing you.”

“You too,” I say as I move past him. His hand reaches out and his finger drags over my arm as I turn the corner. When I look over my shoulder, I catch that same look in his eyes, a familiar look, a look so eerily similar to one I’ve seen on Pacey that I feel bile rise in the back of my throat. Why the heck would I think that?

When I find the tortillas, I stare at them for a few moments, trying to collect my thoughts, but it feels impossible, because all I can think about is Josh’s confession and how it makes me feel . . .

Like I wasn’t adequate enough for him . . . all over again.





Chapter Twenty-Three





PACEY





I slam the door to my apartment and throw the flowers I got for Winnie onto the console table in my entryway.

I pause, hands on my hips, trying to catch my breath.

What the actual fuck?

I check my phone again to read Winnie’s last text.

Winnie: At the grocery store, running late. Be there soon.

Yeah, I know exactly why she was fucking running late.

I storm to my fridge, whip open the door, and pull out a beer. I use the counter to knock off the top and then take a long pull from the bottle.

She was with fucking Josh.

I grip the bottle in my hand so goddamn tightly that I fear I’ll snap the neck of the bottle right off.

Josh.

How in the actual fuck did that happen? Did she know he was in Vancouver? Is that why she came with me? So she could meet up with him the first chance she got?

Is that . . .

Holy fuck.

Is that who she’s been texting?

I bring the beer to my lips again and chug. I chug the entire thing and then toss the bottle in my sink, where it shatters. I reach into my fridge and grab another. I pop off the top and pace the length of my kitchen as my mind spins with accusations, of scenarios, of the moment I caught them together—hugging, him kissing her on the goddamn head.

“Fuck,” I shout as I grip the kitchen counter and gulp down some more of my beer. I pull my phone out and open up the text thread with Josh. Without thinking, I shoot him a text.

Pacey: Stay the fuck away from her. Do you hear me? She’s not fucking yours, stop trying to make it that way.

There’s no way she’d get back together with him. Right? The dude was a total asshole to her. He emotionally belittled her. He made her feel as if she wasn’t good enough. He threw away the best thing to ever happen to him.

And yet, they were hugging.

My phone buzzes.

Josh: Never thought I’d see the day when Pacey Lawes was jealous of me.

Pacey: I’m not fucking jealous. I just don’t want you fucking with her head. You’ve done that enough.

Josh: I wouldn’t do that to her.

Pacey: You already did.

Josh: If you’d actually let me fucking explain, maybe you’d have a better understanding.

Ha . . . okay.

I tip my beer back, taking a giant gulp until it’s completely done. I set the bottle on the counter this time and stare at the front door, waiting.

My headspace is foggy.

My fury over my future is terrifying me. I’m trying to act as if everything is okay, but in the back of my mind, I can feel it—something is going to happen. Doc’s going to call me into his office and deliver life-changing news. From his demeanor, I could fucking feel it.

Pair that with Winnie, standing there with Josh, as if they never skipped a beat. Watching her from afar, falling into his embrace, allowing him to touch her like I touch her.

I’ve never felt more . . . betrayed.

She’s mine.

And I thought I had forever.

Pacey: Just stay the fuck away. Got it?

I reach into the fridge again, grabbing another beer. This one I open with my actual bottle opener, taking a small sip just as my front door opens. Winnie shuffles in, carrying two reusable bags, one in each hand. Her eyes immediately take in the tossed flowers splayed out of their packaging. She turns her head to find me, fuming in the kitchen.

“Pacey,” she says, her voice startled. “Is everything okay?”

I push off the counter and back up until I hit the other side of the kitchen. I lean against that counter and bring the beer to my lips as I keep my eyes on her.

“Pacey?” she questions as she brings the groceries to the kitchen. She sets them on the counter and then turns toward me. “What’s going on? Did you hear from the doctor?”

I take another sip of my beer, lick the residue off my lips, and then casually ask, “How was the grocery store?”

If it weren’t for her eyes widening only slightly, I wouldn’t have noticed any difference in her composure.

“It was—it was fine. Confusing. Not used to where they placed things.” Her brow knits together and she comes up to me. She rests her hand on my chest. “Pacey, what’s going on? You’re heart—wow, it’s racing.”

I take a long pull from my beer this time. “What did you have trouble finding in the grocery store?”

She gives me a confused look. “Uh, the tortillas. Why aren’t you answering me?”