The front door shuts, and I bring my legs to my chest, holding them closely.
After another two hours of fighting, Brian and I both thought that maybe it was best to take a moment to cool off. He’s going to his place for the rest of the night while I’m staying here. He asked if I was going to go talk to Breaker, and I told him I had no intention of going over to Breaker’s place. I’m not even sure he’s home, as I heard him leave earlier, so I have no idea what he’s doing.
And I’m not in the mood to see anyone.
Am I wrong in this situation? Am I being selfish? I don’t think I am. I’m not asking for much from him. I’m just asking him to talk to me, to want me, to be the fiancé I deserve. And if he can’t give me the attention I deserve right now, who’s to say he’d be able to give it to me when we’re married? And The Beave sent a fucking photo of the dress I chose to see if he approved? What am I? A preschooler?
I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused in my life.
I rest my head against the couch just as my phone lights up with a text message.
Breaker: How was the blow job?
If only he knew.
Lia: Nonexistent.
The dots pop up, indicating he’s texting back, so I lie on my side on the couch and pull a blanket over me while I wait for him to respond.
Breaker: Shame. I gave you some good tips. Really good. Like . . . so good.
Lia: I’m sure you did.
Breaker: I really like the sucking of the tip, it feels so fucking good, Lia.
Uhh . . . okay. Not sure what’s going on, but maybe it’s a continuation of the conversation from earlier.
Lia: Yes, you stated that earlier.
Breaker: What about you, do you like . . . the tip?
Lia: Uh, wouldn’t know, you know, since I haven’t done it.
Breaker: You would like it. I know you would. I can see it in your eyes. Fuck, I bet you give the best head.
My cheeks flush again, and I’m so unsure of what’s happening that I consider walking over to his apartment to see if he’s okay. Instead, I just text him back.
Lia: So far, reviews aren’t in my favor.
Breaker: Because you’re sucking the wrong dick.
Lia: Apparently.
Breaker: What did he do? Did he get to taste you?
Lia: No.
My breath picks up, becoming more labored as I wait for him to text me back.
Breaker: Good.
Good? I sit up now as I stare down at my phone.
Breaker: He doesn’t deserve to taste you.
I glance over at the wall we share as if I can see through it. What’s he doing? Is he home?
Lia: Is everything okay, Breaker?
Breaker: You tell me.
Lia: What is that supposed to mean?
Breaker: Why are you texting me and not fucking Brian right now?
My palms sweat, my fingers slide along my phone, nothing making sense, but also, the sound of his sultry voice from earlier repeats in my head.
Lia: We got in a fight, and we’re taking a second to cool down.
Breaker: Did he say some bullshit about you again? I swear to God, I will end him if he did. You’re so fucking beautiful, Lia. Don’t let him make you think otherwise.
I drop my phone onto the couch and stand, my heart racing.
What is actually happening?
This is Breaker. We always stand up for each other, but this feels different. It sounds different.
My phone buzzes again, and I see that it’s from Breaker. My mind tells me not to look, but my heart is begging me to.
The heart wins out.
Breaker: What did he say to you?
I pace the length of my living room as I text him back.
Lia: Just asked me if I’m having some sort of crisis because of my haircut and my questions about sex.
Breaker: Bro is a goddamn fool. He should be fucking you every chance he gets, especially with your new hairstyle. So sexy, Ophelia, fuck . . .
I let out a low groan, my eyes swimming with uncertain tears. Because how can Breaker, my best friend, talk like this? How can he say everything I want Brian to say? Brian can hardly even look at me, kiss me, or acknowledge that I’m a slight distraction from his ever-consuming work.
Another text comes in.
Breaker: Why isn’t he fucking you?
Giving up on trying to figure out what is going on, I move to my bedroom, where I flop on the bed, my headboard hitting the wall.
Lia: I don’t know, Breaker.
Breaker: Did you just lie down in your bed?
Lia: Yes, are you home?
Breaker: Yes, in my bed, thinking about you.
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to five before I answer, before I say something stupid—because I’m extremely emotional.
Lia: Why are you thinking about me?
Breaker: I’m always thinking about you.
Lia: You can’t always be thinking about me.
Breaker: I am. When I wake up, I wonder how I can possibly interact with you, how I can catch a glimpse of your smile. Throughout the day, I know that if I need a pick-me-up, some comfort, or fun, you’re the person I want to see. And at night, when I go to sleep, you’re the last thing I think of before I shut my eyes.
My teeth roll over my bottom lip as I text him back.
Lia: You say that as if it means more.
Breaker: Maybe it does.
Lia: What are you trying to do?
Breaker: Nothing.
Lia: We don’t say things like that to each other.
Breaker: Yeah, well . . . maybe we should.
Lia: What are you talking about?
Breaker: Never mind. You won’t get it. You have Brian.
Lia: Breaker, what the hell are you trying to say?
Breaker: Nothing. Not a damn thing. I need to sleep this shit off. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Lia: No, talk to me now.
When he doesn’t reply, I text again.
Lia: Breaker, do I need to come over there?
Lia: Breaker . . .
I stare at my phone, waiting for a response as my heart races. What is he talking about? It almost seems like . . . like he has feelings or something, but that can’t be right. This is Breaker. He doesn’t do feelings, right?
When he doesn’t text back, I almost walk over to his apartment until I hear one solid, heavy knock against the wall.
Then four.
Then three.
And then there’s silence.
One knock. Four. Three.
My mind quickly translates it: I love you.
He’s never knocked like that before. Never three words, never by himself. So what does that mean? What does this all freaking mean? Tears of frustration rise to my eyes as my phone dings with a text message.
Hoping Breaker is texting to explain it all, I quickly check the screen, but I’m quickly disappointed.
Brian: I’m sorry about our fight. I love you very much, remember that. You’ll be my wife in four weeks, and we have the rest of our lives to figure out the details.
Groaning, I toss my phone to the side and cover my eyes with my hands.
I need to escape from all of this.
Chapter Fifteen
BREAKER
JP: How’re you feeling, Big Boy?
Clutching a cup of coffee, I text JP and Huxley back in our group thread.
Breaker: Don’t call me that. And not fucking great. I texted some really stupid shit to Lia last night.
JP: I’m going to need a copy of that text thread for my own enjoyment.
Huxley: I normally don’t participate in JP’s shenanigans, but I’m interested in what you said as well.