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“He said he’s not interested.”
Given that Brylee has been after him for God knows how long—a year?—and he never showed any hint of interest, well… That should have been a clue.
Then again, who am I to talk, huh?
Fresh tears well in her eyes. “Why is he fighting it? It’s obvious he wants me.”
“Come again?”
“We’re meant to be,” Brylee whispers.
“Meant to be? What, like in a fairytale?”
“Yes! What if I was like Cinderella and we met at a party and—”
“You’re not Cinderella. You’re Brylee.”
“Brylee Cindy Ella,” she says, pouting.
“No way… Seriously? That’s your name?” I try not to gape at this bit of info. Okay, but it doesn’t matter. “His name isn’t prince… is it?”
She won’t meet my gaze. “And if it is?”
“Ryan Prince? Are you kidding me?” Another thought strikes me and no way… “Is that why you want him? You think you were meant to be?”
“Don’t you?”
Jeez. I don’t even know what to say.
All this time giving me shit over my fantasy with two guys, over my imaginary boyfriends, when she’s been living a fantasy full time. Not to mention, my imaginary boyfriends are turning out to be all too real.
***
Sunday is spent at home, in front of my computer, chatting with Connie. I have my phone beside me, in case Jet or Joel call, but they don’t, and I don’t find the courage to call or text them myself.
Not yet.
Besides, Connie is distracting me.
“You what?” she writes, adding a row of emojis slapping their cheeks and screaming. “You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not.”
“You were at their apartment. And J-One cooked. And you cuddled with J-Two on the sofa. And you made out with both. That about right?”
“Yup.”
“Screw you, bitch. Eat shit and die.”
“Love you, too, babe.”
There is a bit of chat silence, and I check my emails, finding one from my brother. He moved to Seattle to work, and I rarely hear from him. Not that he has much to say. Work is fine, bars are fine, blah blah—still, it’s nice of him. I should reply.
Next I check my blog. There are literarily hundreds of comments on my last installment of my serial, telling me how much they love it and when the next chapter will be up.
I really should get cracking on it. I’ve never missed an installment. I always post one every week, maximum two, as much for my readers’ enjoyment as for my own.
And I have ideas. I have a file full of them, and notebooks filled with scribbles. Even diagrams. I glance at them, look back at the blog.
