“What about you and Holt?” Connor says as he picks at his fries. “Any grand romantic plans this weekend?” His voice has an edge that says he already knows the answer.
I look over at Ethan in the cafeteria line. “Uh, I’m not sure. We haven’t really discussed it yet.”
“Uh-huh.” Connor looks back down at his lunch, and I feel a stab of resentment that he brought it up.
Can everyone see how unromantic Ethan is?
I have a feeling that if I told everyone he bailed on me the morning after we had sex for the first time, no one would be surprised.
It’s like our relationship is one of those stupid logic paradoxes.
When is a boyfriend not a boyfriend?
When it’s Ethan Holt.
As everyone continues to chatter on about their romantic plans, I excuse myself and head to the bathroom. I guess I always knew Ethan wasn’t the most demonstrative person in the world, but I figured once we came out of the relationship closet, it would change.
Apparently not.
When I come out of the stall, Olivia’s there, bent over the sink and snorting something off the counter. When she sees me, she wipes her nose. “Hey.”
I take a breath and slide past her to wash my hands. “Maybe you should do that where people can’t see you.”
“I usually do, but I figure you should see what’s in store for you when Holt breaks your heart. It’s not pretty.”
I shake my head and wash my hands as quickly as possible. “I’m not into drugs.”
“Not yet Give it time.”
I dry my hands and try to ignore her snorting another line off the counter.
When I first met Olivia a few months ago, I couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous she was. She made me feel inferior in every way. My hair was the most common shade of brown imaginable, while hers was a deep tawny color, thick and glossy. While I was curvy and well proportioned for my five-foot-five frame, she was about four inches taller and had the type of slender elegance I’d always envied.
I could imagine she would have looked fantastic standing next to Ethan, both of them equally stunning.
Sadly, the woman standing in front of me appears very different. Her hair is now greasy and dull, her skin uneven and sallow, and the slender elegance she used to possess has given way to sunken cheeks and too-prominent bones.
Whatever demons she’s carrying around from her time with Ethan, they seem to be eating her alive.
As I turn to leave, I feel a pang of sympathy. “Take care of yourself, Olivia, okay?”
Before I can open the door, she touches my arm. “Look, I’m really not here to bust your ass. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I do, thanks.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, the Ethan Holt who broke my heart looks an awful lot like the one you’re dating.”
“He’s changed since then.”
She leans back against the sink and crosses her arms. “Let me paint you a picture.” I can already tell I’m not going to like this story. “He grudgingly agreed to let people know you were dating, but he doesn’t act like a real boyfriend. No dates, very little public affection, and it’s like pulling teeth to get him to talk about his feelings or mood swings. Sound familiar?”
I keep my face impassive, even though my adrenaline has kicked up a notch. “I don’t know what to tell you. I like him. A lot. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Olivia shakes her head. “You don’t get it, do you? You probably think it won’t happen to you, because you’re different or special, and maybe you’re right. But that’s not the problem. You may be different, but he’s not, and he’s the one who’s going to destroy you. Tread carefully. That boy is an avalanche just waiting to happen.”
“So this chick is, what, stalking you now?” my roommate, Ruby, asks as she struggles to open a can of tomato soup.
“Sort of, but I get the feeling she’s kind of trying to look out for me.”
“Yeah, well, bitch needs to step off. That’s my job. Still, she’s right. I can’t believe he’s never taken you on a real date. It seems like the man doesn’t have a single romantic bone in his body.” She dumps the soup into a saucepan.
“He’s not that bad.”
“Cassie, we did the ‘How Romantic Is Your Guy?’ quiz from Cosmo, and Holt’s results were ‘This Man Doesn’t Know He’s Your Boyfriend.’ It’s freaking ridiculous.”
I check on the premade rolls I’d put in the oven a few minutes ago. They’re still way too pale. “He’s been hurt before. He just doesn’t show his affection like normal guys, I guess.”
“And how does he show his affection? Because from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t kiss or hug you hello, he barely holds your hand, he slept with you once but won’t do it again. There are no presents, no dates, and no epic love poems written while high on peyote.”
I frown. “What was that last thing?”
“Never mind. Long story. My point is, the boy has zero romantic game, and you’re the one who’s suffering. I can’t believe you’re not more pissed about this.”
“Well, I’m not happy about it, but what can I do?”
“Okay, here’s my advice. You’re being a doormat.”