Page 41 of Your Pace Or Mine

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FOURTEEN

ASHLEY

I spend Sunday holed up on my couch. Doing anything feels overwhelming, even basic tasks like cleaning up the mess Sebastian and I left in the living room last night or thinking about dinner. My brain is a fuzzy mixture of rage at Clint and post-sex hormones that leaves me unable to focus on anything except videos of top ten underrated show tunes and compilations of cute animals.

The girls check in later, but don’t ask any questions about my date. I texted this morning that it was disappointing and I’d tell them the rest later. I don’t want to talk about Clint. I’m still so mad at myself that I don’t have the energy to deal with their reactions and assure them I’m okay. It’s enough to keep telling myself that.

I start sweating when I consider what they’d say about Sebastian if they knew. I may have told Sebastian I might not tell them, but they have a way of dragging things out of me, and they won’t be wrong in thinking it’s dangerous territory. But surely we can keep our physical relationship separate from our friendship. Right?

I open my text thread with Bash for the tenth time this afternoon. I keep typing a message, then deleting it. Should I check in?

Oh right. Not dating. We’re just friends who hook up. I’m sure I’ll get my bearings soon.

He phones later to talk about the next steps, leaving me with even more on my mind. As much as it warms my heart that his whole team is on my side, I hate knowing Clint won’t get called out publicly like he deserves. Still, hearing my friend go into Dark Sebastian mode was pretty sexy.

Afterward I find myself longing to talk to my mom. Not to tell her what happened with Sebastian or with Clint, but just to hear her voice.

She picks up on the first ring. She doesn’t ask much. When I’m not particularly chatty, she gives me a rundown of her mundane weekend tasks. “And Samantha and I had coffee this morning. She asked how you’re doing.”

My sister would know if she ever bothered answering my texts with more than a word or two. The last one just got a thumbs up.

“We haven’t been great at keeping in touch.” The last thing I need is for Mom to intervene to make my sister answer my messages. “I’ll text her.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, Ashley?” Mom’s voice is full of concern. I wish I could teleport myself to her couch and unload everything. But she’d be upset if she knew about Clint, and the last thing I want to tell my mom about is this friends-with-benefits arrangement with Sebastian. She’d probably need smelling salts, or whatever the modern equivalent is.

“I’m fine. It’s been a hectic weekend. I had an early run yesterday and a late night with a friend.”

“Oh, a friend,” Mom says pointedly. “Is this a new development.”

“No, no, a platonic friend.” One who tore my sleep shorts off and tossed them next to the dishwasher this morning, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Anyway, I just need more sleep. I’m going to take a nap.”

We hang up and I stare at my phone, wondering if I should text Sam. We used to talk about boys all the time, back when we were teenagers. It was mostly her relaying various dating adventures and me moaning about unrequited crushes, but we shared everything. She always listened, even when it was painfully obvious that nothing would come of my obsession with Evan, the older boy who starred in our school’s production of Guys and Dolls. In retrospect, he was more interested in Nathan Detroit than me.

Hey Sam, Mom said you guys had coffee today. How’s everything?

Samantha:

It’s good.

I wait for some elaboration, but apparently that’s it. Maybe she only asked Mom about me out of politeness.

I was just thinking about how we used to paint our nails when we talked about boys, back in the day.

She had a theory about choosing the right shade to signify what we were hoping for with our object of affection, or disaffection if it were that. She was obsessed with a shade called Revenge after any nasty breakups.

We should get manicures one day, maybe. When I’m in town.

Weekends are busy with house stuff, but give me a heads up if you’re coming and I’ll pencil it in.

Wow, glad to know I need advanced notice to see my own sister. I thought maybe she’d read between the lines a little with the boy thing, but it’s clear we aren’t as close as we used to be.

I get back to my television and order some takeout. I’m in the middle of a Scrubs marathon when Laurel calls me.

“Oh my God, are you okay? I saw the statement online about Miss Midtown.”

My eyes well up again, but I don’t have the bandwidth to relive everything right now.