Neighbor Dearest(34)

His chest was rising and falling as his breathing quickened. He was struggling before he whispered, “It was real.”

“I’m confused.”

“Every part of that kiss was real, but it still shouldn’t have happened.”

“There’s supposedly nothing more than a friendship going on between us, right? So, why does being around you hurt so badly sometimes? I think I might’ve figured it out tonight. It’s because you tell me one thing, but your eyes tell me another, your heart tells me another. Your heart was beating faster than mine today. Why won’t you open it up to me?”

His eyes looked pained when he raised his voice. “My heart is broken, Chelsea. Alright?”

“Who broke your heart? Did she hurt you?”

The girl in that video?

“Who are you referring to?”

“Did someone hurt you? Is that why you’re so afraid of commitment? What happened to you to make you this way?”

He looked up at the starry sky before speaking. “It’s just who I am, how God made me. I can’t be what you need for the long term.”

“I don’t even care about the long term.”

“You say that, but you don’t mean it.”

“You’re what I need—what I need today.”

“And you have me…as a friend…always. I failed today, though. I wasn’t being a very good friend when I let that kiss get out of control. I got carried away, and I’m so sorry. But it won’t happen again.”

No, it won’t.

God, that hurt. It was like he’d closed the door on us and threw away the key. He might as well have just thrown a pile of sand in my eyes, too.

But I finally heard his message loud and clear.





CHAPTER ELEVEN



DUCKING DRUNK





Things changed after the night in Santa Cruz.

Damien tried to pretend it didn’t happen, but I just couldn’t.

Angry at myself for my inability to control my feelings, I’d decided that avoiding him would be better than trying to deal with things. I didn’t want him to witness my weakness anymore.

When he’d call me over for breakfast, I’d make up an excuse. When he’d come by, I’d act cold until he gave up and left.

The dogs were barking more than ever. I knew they were trying to get me to come over, and it pained me because I missed them. And I missed him. I just didn’t know how to be around him without feeling the sadness of his rejection.

Continuing to be his friend seemed impossible because I was pretty sure I was falling in love with him.

My phone chimed one morning.



The dogs miss you.



Chelsea: I miss them, too.



Damien: It’s not fair to them what you’re doing. You can’t just come see them for five minutes?



Chelsea: I can’t.



Damien: It’s not just them. I miss you, too.



Chelsea: I’m sorry.



With each day, the pain only got worse. It was the same kind of despair one experiences after a breakup, but in this case, there had been no romantic relationship, of course.

After a couple of weeks, I’d basically hit rock bottom.

It was late on a Friday night, and I’d decided that I was going to make myself this cocktail that I’d read about in one of my romance novels. It was called a Weeping Orgasm. The ingredients were blueberry vodka, Sprite, and fresh berries.

After downing three of them, I was basically off of my ass. Feeling the effects of my liquid courage, I opened the dating site that Damien had set me up on when we first met and decided to play around on it.

For shits and giggles, I looked up Online Damien’s profile and saw it was active. That meant that even though the free trial had run out, he’d paid to continue the subscription. That also meant that while he was choosing not to date me, he was using the site to meet other women.

My blood was boiling. My head had already been messed up from the alcohol, but now it felt like it was full-on spinning. While he’d continuously rejected me, he was basically on here, trolling for sex. I’d show him.

I clicked on the option to send him a message and typed.



Wanna fuck?



My heart was pounding. He probably wouldn’t even see it tonight. The little dot that would have been green if he was online remained unlit.

I immediately went back to try to delete what I’d written but there was no option to do that once a message was sent.

I looked closer at what I’d messaged him and realized it hadn’t come through the way I’d intended. The auto correct had actually changed the message to:



Wanna duck?



Great. That was smooth. Not only had I made a drunken fool of myself to try to prove a point, but the message actually made no sense at all.

I shut my laptop in defeat and nearly passed out.