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When I’d woken up Sunday morning, the quilt that I’d placed over him had been tucked around me. And the pillow had replaced the armrest. Jase had been gone.
There was a huge part of me that wanted to believe that he’d spoken the truth last night and that it meant something, because that kiss . . . it had been so sweet. But he’d been hammered and he wasn’t here now. I appreciated that he’d apologized. We could move forward from here and be friends, but I wanted to kick myself for rushing out in the middle of the night to talk to him like I was desperate and hoping that he’d kiss me.
On any other place except my forehead, but that had been so . . . so sweet.
“Ugh.” I dropped my head into my hands.
But I’d been so surprised by his text. Hell, I’d thought he’d purposely lost my number and . . . well, I was a girl. That was my excuse. We’re just friends. I kept telling myself that over and over again. I needed to get that through my thick skull.
“You don’t look like you had a good night.”
I lifted my head at the sound of Debbie’s voice. She stood in the doorway with two cups of coffee in her hands. “Ahh . . .”
Brown hair tucked up in a neon purple clip, she shoved a warm cup into my hands. “Got a question.”
“Okay.” I sat down on my bed, crossing my legs. “I might have an answer.”
