“Why would I be mad?” she replied, looking and sounding completely mad.
I nodded, still totally lost. I don't know, babe, that's why I fucking asked. Why couldn't women come with a manual? How had I gone from hero to zero in a single evening? I took a stab at the only thing I could think of: “Everything Fox was talking about … all that stuff was a long time ago. I've grown up a lot since then.”
Her eyes were as cool and worn as old coins. Too exhausted to care. “Thanks again for the food,” she finally muttered.
And then, before I could get out another word, she shut the door in my face.
Knowing better than to knock again, I retreated to my own room for some serious brainstorming. One thing was for sure: I had my work cut out for me. It was a massive stroke of bad luck for Avery to hear all my dirty laundry right after we'd finally messed around. Judging by how hurt and disgusted she'd looked earlier, she probably thought I was the biggest douchebag to ever walk the planet. And maybe I used to be, when I was younger—but I wasn't now. How could I make her believe that I'd changed, though?
Flopping down on my bed, I groaned to myself, frustrated in more ways than one. I still wanted to fuck her until she screamed my name, but this situation would require a lot of repair if I wanted to even see that sweet pussy again. And dear God, did I ever.
The next morning, after my Saturday run with Logan, I begged off our usual breakfast and walked down to the florist's shop on Orange Avenue. I figured I couldn't go wrong with buying Avery a few flowers. That move was classic for a reason, right? I asked the surly cashier what he'd recommend. Not roses—those said romance a little too loudly—and not a big showy bouquet, either. Just something bright and colorful—like you’d give a friend. Probably thinking I was some kind of idiot, he eventually sold me on three stems of purple-and-yellow gladiolus and a small glass vase.
I hid the flowers in my room until Avery went out to study with her friends, then left them on her nightstand and started making lunch. Normally, I would have just fixed myself a turkey club, but I was aiming to win Avery over again. Half-assed tactics wouldn't cut it for this operation. After way too much thought, I decided that chicken spaghetti with homemade tomato sauce struck a nice balance between “why bother” and “creepy overkill.”
I cooked up a huge pot, ate a couple bowls, then fired up the Xbox and settled in to rack up achievements. This was going to be a boring day; with my luck, Avery would come back as soon as I left the condo, so I was homebound until further notice.
By the time I gave up and went to bed that night, Avery still hadn't showed.
I came out of my room on Sunday morning to find her eating cereal at the dining table. She saw me and stopped chewing for a moment. I held back the urge to ask whether she'd been abducted by aliens yesterday. If we got into an argument, that would just distract from my goal.
Finally she swallowed her mouthful of Cheerios and said, “The flowers are really nice. Thank you.” Her voice was soft, almost shy—or maybe guarded.
Questions buzzed in my mind: Where the hell were you? Did you stay overnight, or did you just come home late? Was it because you're still pissed at me? Reminding Avery of her freakout seemed counterproductive, though, and she might think I was trying to micromanage her life or something. Finally I just nodded and said, “Glad you like them.” But I couldn't resist adding, “So … you were out late with your friends?”
“Oh. Um, yeah. We watched some movies at Heather's apartment. I didn’t mean to worry you. I guess I could’ve texted.” She fidgeted with her hands for a second. “It just didn't occur to me.”
If she was telling the truth, that meant she hadn't stayed out specifically to avoid me. If she was lying, that meant she had been avoiding me—but she didn't want to hold that fact over my head. Either way seemed like progress. I decided to take my small victories where I could find them. “Cool,” I replied. “Well, I'm going out. I'll probably be back for dinner, but if not, there's leftover spaghetti in the fridge.”
Avery nodded and I left her alone. She seemed touched by my gesture, but still a little standoffish, and I wondered just how long the road ahead of me was.
***
As I was going to bed late the next night, I noticed that light was still shining under Avery's bedroom door. I knocked, and after a long pause, I heard her call, “What?”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
I opened the door to see Avery hunched over her desk, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, her face bathed in the glow of her laptop. A thick textbook lay open at her elbow and three more were stacked nearby. “Are you busy?” I asked.