Make a Wish (Spark House #3)(42)

“The look on your face says everything, Harley.”

I run a hand down my face. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“For what to happen? Please don’t tell me you slept with that guy.”

I recoil at the insinuation. “Of course not. I would never do something like that.” And it makes feel sick to think that he could believe that I would.

“So what didn’t you mean to happen if you’re not sleeping with him? What’s going on between you? Is this an emotional affair or something?”

I rub the space between my eyes, trying to figure out how to explain. “No. It’s not like that. I just didn’t mean to start spending so much time with Peyton and Gavin. I honestly thought I would go to lunch with them that one time, but—”

“He kept messaging and texting and you kept saying yes.” He cracks his jaw.

I nod.

“But you can’t find time to spend with me.”

As I absorb his words and his anger, our situation becomes clearer. “You’re right. But do you really want to spend time with me?”

“Of course I do. Why would you even ask that?”

“How often do we see each other and it’s just the two of us?” I ask.

“You’re always working, or you have assignments, or you’re hanging out with that dad and his kid, so not that often,” he snaps.

I sigh, aware he has a right to be upset. Because he’s not wrong. But he’s also not entirely right. “We’re always with friends. We make group plans, and when you come to my house, you’re always playing video games. We don’t make plans as a couple.” I motion between us. “We never have.”

Chad’s expression shifts, the anger still there, but another new emotion covers that. “But it’s more fun to go out with a group. You’re always inviting other people to come along.”

“And you never say no, or that you just want time with me. But you don’t really like hanging out with my sisters and their husbands.” I hold up a hand. “I’m not trying to play the blame game here, Chad, or deflect. You’re right about a lot of things. I always invite our friends and you’re always game for more people. I just think…” Am I really going to say this out loud? Admit what I know is probably true? I guess I am. “Maybe you and I aren’t meant for each other.”

“Seriously? That’s how you’re going to play this? So what now? You’re gonna hook up with this guy instead?” He rolls his head on his shoulders.

“No. That’s not … we’re not involved like that.” Although Gavin has helped me see what was missing in my current relationship, which is a true connection. We met through Andrea and Allen, and that’s who we spend most of our time with. Without them, there’s not much of a relationship. It’s not a foundation at all. We’re comfortable with each other, and we have friends in common, but that’s where it ends. The spark isn’t there. It’s probably why the thought of him moving in makes me cagey. This is Psychology 101, and I completely missed the signs. “We’re at very different places in our lives. What I want and what you want isn’t the same thing.”

“So you want to be someone’s standin mom? You know this guy is only interested in you because you’re a built-in babysitter, right?”

I don’t like the way that comment cuts me. Or that I don’t even know if what Chad is saying holds merit or not. “This isn’t about Gavin.”

“Like hell it isn’t. I saw the way he looked at you. And you were with him tonight.”

“Not technically. I was helping at a school event.” My motivation for helping doesn’t matter; it’s that I didn’t factor in how Chad might perceive it. I’m beginning to see that I’m the problem.

“For his fucking kid!” He shakes his head. “You know what, have fun playing mommy. If you want to lose all your good years taking care of some forty-year-old dude’s kid, go for it.” He turns around and yanks open his car door.

“You have a right to be angry with me, Chad, but this is the most passionate I’ve ever seen you get about anything other than your fantasy leagues and sports. That has to tell you something, especially about our relationship.”

His lips press together in a line. “Just because you’re letting yourself off the hook doesn’t mean I have to.”

He gets inside and slams the door, turns the engine over, and leaves me standing in the parking lot, questioning everything. Especially myself.

It’s late and walking home at this hour on my own doesn’t seem like a good idea, so I call an Uber. I message Chad to make sure he made it home safely.

Chad: Don’t worry. I didn’t drive off a bridge. The only thing you have to feel guilty about is lying to yourself about what’s going on with that dude. Have a nice life.

I stare at the words for a long time, wondering if he’s right. If I’ve been more invested this entire time without realizing it.

But I’m not wrong about Chad and me. We aren’t meant for each other. Andrea, who I befriended a few years ago at a pottery class, invited me out for drinks with her and Allen and a few of their friends, one of whom was Chad. We sat beside each other, the two single people amidst a pair of couples, and seemed to hit it off. We exchanged numbers, and the next week I met up with him at the same pub, with the same group of friends. He was fun, easygoing. We were instantly comfortable with each other, maybe too comfortable. I knew we had our differences, but I thought we’d grow into them in an opposites-attract way.