Sweet Cheeks(4)

“I’m just trying to figure out if you’re having second thoughts.”

I snort. “If I did it’s a bit late since it seems he’s getting married.”

“Mm-hmm.” There’s something condescending in the way he says it, and it makes me grit my teeth.

“And mm-hmm means what?” My hands are on my hips now, my temper starting to flare.

“I find it interesting that you haven’t said shit to me about getting the invitation. So that tells me it has gotten to you more than you’re letting on. If it didn’t bug you or if you weren’t having second thoughts, then you would have said something.”

“I didn’t tell you because it isn’t a big deal.”

“Mm-hmm.”

There’s that response again.

“Just say whatever it is you’re not saying, Ryd. I’m not in the mood for whatever reverse psychology game you’re playing here.”

“It would be totally normal for you to have doubts you know.”

“Agreed, but what do doubts have to do with this?” I point to the invitation on the table between us.

“I’m just making sure you’re not planning on doing anything stupid you’ll regret, that’s all.”

“Excuse me?”

“Like you showing up to the wedding type of stupid.” He lifts his eyebrows as he says the words and snaps the last thread holding my temper at bay.

“Why do you keep harping on about this? Get off my back, will you? Do you think I have a secret plan to sneak off to the wedding? Cash in the travel voucher the resort gave me as a credit for my own cancelled wedding and just show up because all of a sudden I’m worried that I’ve made a huge mistake? What do you think I’m going to do, spy through the hedges during the ceremony so I can satisfy my morbid curiosity over what the future Mrs. Layton looks like all the while silently thanking God that it isn’t me walking down the aisle to him?”

“Say, that’s not what I meant by—”

“Better yet. I think I should go.” My temper is lit and I couldn’t stop the words from rushing out if I tried. “In fact, I’ll hire some totally hot stud from an escort service to take me. I mean, I put plus-one, after all. So when we walk into the reception, it’ll be obvious he’s so madly in love with me that those assholes—the people I thought were my friends, yet were nowhere to be found when I needed them the most—can see us. Why not, right? If I showed up head over heels in love with some hot guy, then God willing, they’d all see that I’m not at home in the corner licking my wounds because I realized I made a mistake like they all think I am.” I finally stop, chest heaving, hands fisted, and anger over being questioned weighing heavy in the space between us. Ryder’s eyes remain locked on mine yet he doesn’t say a word. “So if that’s what you mean by doing something stupid, then no worries Ryder, I’ve got stupid covered. Thanks for the vote of confidence, though.”

I slam the piping bag down for emphasis. A huge blob of the teal-colored frosting shoots out from the force and squirts across the distance onto the butcher block. I stare at it for a moment, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time over the situation. At Ryder thinking I actually want to get back together with Mitch and at myself for going off on him and letting my temper get the best of me.

It’s not his fault. It’s mine. It’s the overload of emotion that I’ve held in since my breakup with Mitch. It’s the knowing that everything I just pretended to make up—wanting to see what Rebound Sarah looks like, wanting to see Mitch and feel relief that I had walked away, wanting to prove to our old friends that I’m better off now—are thoughts I’ve actually had over the past few weeks. Validations I don’t need but have crept into my mind nonetheless.

“Say.” There’s nothing but empathy in his voice, and yet I can’t look at him. Can’t lose it when I’ve been trying so hard to keep everything—my life, my emotions, my sanity—together to prove to everyone, including him, that I made the best decision.

Needing a minute to collect myself, I hang my head, draw in a deep breath, and tell myself it’s okay to feel a bit unhinged. That leaving the life I once had and essentially starting over again would leave most people feeling crazy.

“No. I’m okay.” I clear my throat and focus on scrubbing the colored icing from the countertop so he can’t see the tears welling in my eyes. All the while, I wait for him to say more. Know he wants to. And yet when only silence weighs down the air around us, I’m forced to look up.