You Promised Me Forever (Forever Yours #1)(7)

“What do you mean by that?”

“He can want you, but he can never have you, because you are so done with that douchebag. He can go suck a bag of dicks.”

Funny how when we end up talking about high school stuff, Livvy immediately starts sounding like her high school self. We’re in our twenties now. We don’t go around saying suck a bag of dicks anymore.

Well. I never really did. That’s more Livvy’s style.

“He doesn’t want me,” I reassure her. And myself. “He probably has a different woman in his bed every night. He’s probably dated half the Kardashians.” There was a rumor he had a minor tryst with Kendall Jenner about a year ago, but who knows if that’s true? He takes one photo with her at a random event, and it’s splashed all over social media claiming they’re a couple.

“I wish he did. I wish he was begging for you to come back to him right now, just so you could have the satisfaction of telling him to kiss your ass,” Livvy says.

I think about him following me on Instagram last night. How he sent me that one-word message and nothing else. The tease. The jerk.

Should I tell Livvy?

Nah.

“I’m not out for vengeance,” I say. “I only wish him well.”

“You have a bigger heart than me,” Livvy mutters. “Dustin tells me my hate for Tuttle is ridiculous.”

“It sort of is,” I say gently. “Don’t forget, I broke up with him.”

“Because he practically made you!” she cries, forcing me to hold the phone away from my ear. She’s loud when she wants to be. “He never called you, he always canceled on you when you had plans. I don’t know how many times I had to comfort you while you cried over him bailing yet again.”

Everything she says is true. I cried a lot over Jordan when he went away to college. I let the distance and his success and my insecurities destroy our relationship.

“He didn’t make me end things. I didn’t give him the choice,” I tell her with a sigh.

“Well, whatever. I just hate seeing him on TV looking like such a smug bastard.”

“I’m surprised you even watched it.” Livvy’s always busy working. She’s a real estate agent in Austin and currently making a killing.

“Dustin told me we had to watch it,” Livvy says with an irritated sigh. “He got excited when he saw himself in that one class picture.”

“Ha, I was in that class too.”

“I was in Haskell’s class so no brief brush of fame for me. Dustin thinks he’s some sort of celebrity now.” She sounds amused. “He wishes he could go to one of Tuttle and Cannon’s games.”

Cannon Whittaker played football with Jordan in high school and was one of our friends. A big, sweet bear of a man now, he was traded onto Jordan’s team last season, and the media went wild with stories about them being reunited.

“I could, not that I’m going to,” I say. Their stadium isn’t too far from where I work. It’s almost like I went into sports medicine on purpose so maybe Jordan and I could cross paths someday.

Yeah. Right.

“Don’t ever chase that man. He sucks,” she says with total assuredness. “I have to go. I have an open house in forty minutes. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.” Livvy ends the call before I can say anything else.

I check my phone, leaving Instagram for last. Snapchat—I’m not into it as much I used to be, though I do still like watching people’s stories. Fast glimpse at Facebook to see my mother has posted a bunch of recipes that make me hungry. I click out when my stomach growls. Email inbox is full of nothing but junk sales stuff, so trepidation filling my veins, I open up Instagram to see…

I have a message.

And it’s from Jordan.

Sorry got distracted. Glad you followed me. It’s been a long time.

Oh my God, that’s it? Though I don’t know what I was expecting. A declaration of his undying love? That’s never going to happen.

I start typing my response.

It has been a long time. I hope you’re—

What else do I say? I hope you’re doing well? Doing shitty? Having the time of your life? Do you miss me? I miss him. I can admit that right now, early in the morning and all alone in my bed, I totally miss him.

Watching that show last night was absolute torture. I dreamed of Jordan, though it’s fuzzy and I can’t quite remember what happened. But he was there, like we belonged together, and it didn’t feel weird.

It felt…

Right.

I erase what I typed and redo it.

I hope you’re doing well.

Setting my phone on the table, I get out of my fold-out bed and go to the bathroom. Brush my teeth. Stare at my reflection, thankful my skin looks decent. I need to figure out what to wear on my date with Cade tonight. I want to look nice, but not like I’m trying too hard. There’s a fine line and I don’t want to cross it.

Sometimes I really hate this dating game bullshit.

I wander out into the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee with the Keurig my parents bought me two Christmases ago. I toast an everything bagel and spread too much cream cheese on top. For some reason, I’m extra clumsy this morning, and my foot slips across the floor, causing me to almost drop the plate, and everything from my everything bagel scatters across the tile.