He pushes his hand into his hair, gripping the strands. "It was a nothing conversation, and you're getting all bent out of shape for no reason. I didn't bad-mouth you. I just stated facts."
"Yeah, what was it again? ‘So, you're really not hittin' it?'" I say, imitating a male voice. "‘Do I look stupid to you?' So, that's a fact, is it? That someone would have to be stupid to be with me?"
"That's not what I said!"
"You just said, you stated facts! And that was one of the facts that you said to Thompson this morning!"
"You're taking it out of context."
"I don't think I am."
"Jesus! See, this is why I avoid women like you-"
"Women like me?" I let out a dry laugh, cutting him off. "You mean, women with baggage. Women with substance abuse issues, right?"
"Yes." No hesitation, and the chill in his voice is enough to refreeze the melting ice caps in the Antarctic.
I swallow hard, past the lump in my throat. "Well, you don't need to avoid me anymore." I grab my bag and open the door.
"Where are you going?" He sounds irritated, maybe even bored. And that makes me feel a million times worse.
God, I was so stupid to think that he would ever be my friend. He hasn't changed one bit from the person I first met that day.
He's just the same judgmental asshole as he was then.
"Somewhere you're not," I bite and clamber down out of the truck.
"You're being stupid, Ari. It's still six blocks to your apartment."
I turn to face him, my hand on the door, ready to shut it. "Sounds like me, right, Mr. Perfect? Stupid with baggage a mile wide." Then, I slam the door shut before he can say any more to hurt me, and I take off, striding away in the opposite direction from him.
NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye" is blaring out of the speakers from my iPod docking station in my living room.
I should be doing yoga. Relaxing. Focusing. Clearing my mind. But I can't.
I've got too much anger inside me to even attempt to do yoga.
So, I'm currently doing exercise in my living room to rid myself of the adrenaline tearing up my body, so I can relax enough to do yoga.
I could've gone out for a run to burn off the hot energy, but I don't feel sure that I might not run straight into a bar right now.
How I managed to get home without going inside of one was a goddamn miracle.
Did I stop outside a pub and stare at it for a good five minutes?
Yes.
Did I go in?
No.
And, for that, I deserve a fucking medal.
I wanted to go inside so bad. It would have been so easy.
But I didn't give in to the urge, and that's what counts.
Instead, I walked away and speed-walked home. The second I got inside my apartment, I stripped off my clothes and changed into a sports bra and shorts. Pushed my coffee table up to the wall and turned on my music.
I must have been listening to NSYNC the last time I'd had my iPod on, so I left it playing. Can't beat a bit of old-school boy band to do old-fashioned exercise to. Sit-ups. Push-ups. Jumping jacks. Anything to burn off my anger. And it's slowly working.
My heart is pumping. I'm sweating. Getting that anger right out of my veins and mind.
I start jogging a circuit around my apartment, singing along with the music.
I probably look like a crazy person right now. But I'm doing the best I can.
I'm not used to dealing with emotions. In the past, whenever I felt something I couldn't handle, I would drink, and then it would disappear.
It's like learning how to handle my emotions without a crutch all over again.
But I did it.
I'm doing it.
"Bye Bye Bye" comes to an end, and "It's Gonna Be Me" starts to play. I chuckle to myself, thinking of the It's Gonna Be May memes.
God, I'm sad.
I start singing along when I hear what I think is a knock on my front door.
I stop and tilt my head in that direction, wondering if I actually heard it or not.
Yep, I did because it comes again but harder this time.
Must be one of my neighbors. I hope they're not coming to complain about the music.
I go over and turn the sound down. Then, I pad over, barefoot, to the door.
Reaching up on my tiptoes, I check the peephole.
I suck in a surprised breath when I see who's standing outside my door.
Ares.
How the hell did he get in my building? You have to be buzzed in. And what is he doing here? Probably come to have a go at me and get in the last word.
Well, he can just piss right off.
I step away from the door, having no intention of opening it.
Like he knows I just thought that, he says through the door, "Ari, I know you're there. I just heard you turn down the shit music."
Ugh. Asshole.
I stubbornly fold my arms over my chest. "I'm not pretending not to be here. I'm just choosing to ignore you."
"But you're not ignoring me right now." He sounds smug.
Jackass.
I flip him the bird even though he can't see me.
"Will you open the door?"
"No."
"Please."
I don't think I've ever heard him use the word please before. Especially not to me.
That makes me open the door. But I'm frowning when I swing it open. And I hate how my heart switches up tempo at the sight of him standing there. Traitorous heart.
I see his jaw clench as he takes in my appearance. And you know what? I don't even care that I'm only dressed in a sports bra and shorts, all sweated up. I'm not trying to impress him right now.
Actually, I've never wanted to impress him, period.
All I've ever wanted was for him to like me. To be my friend.
When he finally lifts his eyes from my body to my face, his brow rises. "NSYNC? Really?"
"You got me to open the door, so you could pick apart my choice of music?"
"No. I wanted to make sure you were okay, and-"
"You mean, you came to see if I was drunk. Well, I'm not. Sorry to disappoint."
His eyes darken, jaw tightening to shatter. "The thought didn't even cross my mind."
That does surprise me.
"I actually came to apologize."
No, that surprises me. I have to grip the door to stop from falling backward from shock.
"You were right. I shouldn't have discussed you with Thompson. The moment he brought it up, I should've shut him down. I let myself get pulled into the locker-room banter, and it was wrong. I'm sorry for that."
"Thank you for apologizing. But there was truth in it. You think I have baggage."
"Doesn't everyone?"
True.
"I guess. But you used it as a reason to not be with me."
His head tilts to the side. "Do you want … that?"
"God, no!" Liar. "It just hurt me to hear that I'm undateable because of my alcohol abuse problems."
"You're not undateable, Ari. Far from it."
My heart spikes.
"But I can't date someone like that … like you."
And plummets.
"Because of my own reasons. But I shouldn't have said it as a slight against you when I was mouthing off to Thompson."
I hate the ache I feel in my chest right now.
I know he doesn't want me. I've always known that from the moment I met him.
Sure, he probably thinks I'm fuckable.
I see the way he checks me out sometimes. He's doing it right now. I'm not blind.
But thinking someone is screwable is completely different to seeing them as dating material.
I am the complete opposite of what he wants.
I know this.
So, why is it bothering me so much?
I get to have him as a friend, and that is huge. I don't have many … okay, I don't have any friends. But, now, I have him and, because of him, Missy, too. And that means everything.
"So, am I forgiven?" he asks in a gentle voice.
Knowing that he cares enough to come here and apologize makes up for everything that happened this morning and in his truck on the way home.
"Sure." I smile, and so does he.
"Does that mean I can come in now?"
"Oh. Okay." I step back, letting him into my place. "How did you get in my building?" I ask, closing the door as he makes his way over to my sofa.
"Your neighbor let me up on his way out," he tells me as he removes his jacket, laying it over the arm of the sofa and sitting himself down, kicking off his shoes.
I love how comfortable he already is in my apartment.
"Great security," I quip.
"He's a Giants fan."
"He would be." I roll my eyes, and he chuckles.
"Are you hungry?" he asks me.
After that workout, I'm starving. "Yep."
"You like pizza?"
"Does the Pope shit in the woods?"
He bursts out laughing. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Jailbird," he crows. "Shit, now, I wanna watch The Big Lebowski."
"Nope, we're watching Dexter," I tell him. "Because you've made me wait nearly a whole week to watch the next episode, and I'm dying here."