Page 61 of While You Were Trending

“I’m not kissing you. Kissing up to you.”

Everything inside me tightens as those damn goosebumps make another appearance. “Just because we knew each other in the past doesn’t mean you owe me anything. You don’t have to be nice to me. Just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

I hate being blunt like this.

Hateit.

I want to be happy and embrace every moment and live my life on my terms, surrounded by people I believe when they tell me they love me.

But with Declan—well.

He made his feelings about me abundantly clear when I was dating Alex, no matter how much I tried and tried and tried to get him to like me, and I don’t trust his motives now.

So me being blunt isn’t a lingering side effect of anything else about my day. Not about my mother. Not about the leak. Not about the clients who told me they’ll be going elsewhere for marketing services.

This is completely about Declan and me and our own ugly history.

“I liked you,” he says.

“What?”

“I liked you. In college. After college. When you were dating Alex. The whole time. I liked you.”

“Are you drunk? Did you find our secret stash of wine?”

“I liked you, Ginny.”

“You’re getting what you want. No need to rewrite history. We both know you hated me. And I’m not going on camera for drama for your show.”

He huffs. “I’m not saying this right. Ilikedyou. Liked you-liked you in ways that a guy shouldn’t like his best friend’s girlfriend.”

If I get any more tense, I might petrify my own muscles. They’ll find me here tomorrow as a new rock in the fields. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. You were always nice. Always included me without complaint. Never made me feel like I was second best. And you were—you were so much more than I thought you’d be. After the show. I thought you’d be spoiled and obnoxious and have unrealistic expectations and demands?—”

“Like my mother?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Yes. Like your mother. But you’re not like your mother. You weren’t ever like your mother. You were—you were smart and self-aware and creative and generous and enthusiastic about practically everything, and you were—you were everything I’d ever wanted in a girlfriend.”

I suddenly can’t draw a steady breath. Pressure builds in my sinuses and heat stings the back of my eyes.

There’s a ring of truth to his voice that’s tilting my world. “Why are you doing this to me tonight?”

“Because you deserve to know that you’re a good human being and you never did anything wrong. That I—that I know I was an asshole. I know I was rude to you. I did it because I liked you. Not because I hated you. I never hated you. I liked you more than I could handle.”

“So you pulled my hair instead of being nice.”

“No. Not like—not like that. You were dating my best friend. I wasn’t a dick to get your attention. I was a dick to keep you at arm’s length. So I wouldn’t—so I wouldn’t cross a line I couldn’t uncross. And lose both of you.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why can’t you let things be? Do your stuff here and leave?”

“Because I want you to know it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault.”

It’s the worst thing he could ever say, and now he’s said it to me twice today.

Being onOn the Rhodes—everything was always my fault.

The things my mother and the directors and producers made me do for the enjoyment of millions of strangers—it always looked like it was my fault.