Tempting(73)

He nodded, taking it all in. “What happened last week?”

“Oh, fuck. This is a long story. But basically, I changed my major.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “What?” he asked incredulously.

Nodding, I said, “I know! A lot has happened! Anyway. I changed my major because I’m sick of choosing rent over groceries that don’t have a shelf life of a hundred years. All that ramen was really wearing me down. And—long story short—my dad offered, because my mom worries, to support me financially if I changed my degree to something more practical.” I heaved a breath, the words having come out in a rush. “And because the professor and I had kept sneaking around, I saw this as a way for us to date publicly, especially since I wouldn’t be his student anymore.” I looked around, almost expecting someone to be listening in to our conversation. “But when I told him, he called me stupid and I happened to be wearing his dead wife’s ring at the time, so that didn’t help things and well, I haven’t talked to him since then.”

“Holy shit, Adele.”

“Right?” There wasn’t much else for me to say, so I just waited while Leo processed.

“Have you heard from him since?”

I pulled my phone from my pocket. “He’s emailed me almost every day since.”

“Have you replied?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t even read them.” I opened my phone, scrolled through the eleven missed calls—all from him. I probably would have answered if I hadn’t been asleep, the sheer number was cause for alarm. But when I’d seen the subject line of his follow up email this morning, The mortification of a hangover. And another apology, I’d deduced that he’d drunk dialed me repeatedly. I still hadn’t read the email.

“Why haven’t you read them?”

There was no easy answer to that, because there were many reasons why I couldn’t:

Because despite how much he’d hurt me, I still wanted him.

Because wanting him made me feel as stupid as he’d said I was.

Because stupid or not, I wasn’t over him.

Because I had a feeling that reading his emails would either break my heart completely or propel me back into arms.

Because either option was gut-wrenchingly terrifying.

“Maybe you should read them. Take it from me, Add—guys aren’t always the best at communicating. You and I have said a lot of things to one another in the heat of the moment that we’ve regretted later on.” He raised his eyebrows, hinting at the whole drunk-sloppy-kiss thing. “And even if he apologizes to you, it doesn’t mean you have to forgive him.”

“Maybe,” I replied unconvincingly. “Or maybe I’ll keep chilling out here, on the island of denial. Population of one.”

He tugged me forward for another hug. “Just think about it. Maybe he’s as sad as you clearly are. Either that or he’s already on the rebound.”

I shoved him playfully away. “Whatever, Leo.” The thought itself stung a little and piqued my curiosity enough that I considered what he was saying.

As we walked back to my home, I realized that talking to Leo was just what I needed to shove me to the right direction.

After settling on the leather recliner next to the fireplace, I pulled my email up on my phone and took a deep breath before I clicked the first one, sent this past Sunday.





Chapter Thirty-Three





To: Alice Carroll

Date: Sunday, November 22, 2015 04:32 PM

From: Nathaniel Easton

Subject: Please



I hope to see you in class tomorrow. I called you again, and didn’t receive a reply to my email on Friday. I don’t blame you for being upset, I was callous and patronizing. My shock at seeing you with the ring on isn’t what did it, and someday I hope to tell you why you changing your major affected me so much. But not here. Not like this. Right now, I’m hoping you’ll at least read an email from me.



And when I say this, it’s not because I’m angry about it anymore, but I believe you still had the ring on when you left my house. Above anything else it may have been, it was a gift from my grandmother on my mom’s side, and she was one the few family members I had a truly close relationship with. I’d appreciate it if you could bring it to class with you tomorrow.



My brain hasn’t stopped moving, Adele, not since you slammed the door and left. I don’t think it’s slowed in the last 72 hours. I know it certainly hasn’t allowed me to sleep. Please, just let me know you’ve at least seen these.



Sincerely,

Nathan



(I’m hoping that my formality will appeal to you. I’m not trying to be a pretentious prick.)