19
WYATT
“What was that?” Ava says with a raised brow as soon as Ely has vanished down the hall, the far door having opened and firmly shut behind her.
“It’s not what it looked like,” I plead. “Ava. Nothing’s going on. Or I mean—well, obviously something is. But we have it under control. It won’t interfere with her work.”
I’m so stupid they should name some kind of satirical prize in my honor. If the whole plan is to hold my weaker instincts at bay and behave like a mentor for the next month or so, I’m doing a really shitty job of it.
One more month, Wyatt. One more month, and we could have done whatever we wanted, and here I am with no self-control.
Being unable to restrain myself is up there with my most loathed personality flaws of all time.
Losing control never got me anywhere good. I mean, it got me into a couple overdoses. It got me to do things for drug money that I still hate myself for.
Losing control turned my father into a monster.
I’ve built a whole life out of getting that control back and never, not once, ever, giving an inch.
Until, apparently, now.
“Wyatt,” she starts, but this is already so humiliating I want to die, so.
“Please don’t,” I say, holding up a hand before she can finish. “Seriously. I want to hide in a cave right now. Please just let me go hide in that cave.”
She’s silent for long enough that I dare to steal another glance at her face. She’s got a little quirk to the corner of her mouth, half a smile, and I have no idea how to interpret that.
“Stop whatever look that is you’re trying to give me.”
“I’m not trying to give you anything. Anyway, I think you said something about a cave you had to go hide in?”
This time I don’t let myself mess up my exit. I’m out of there before she can change her mind.
I dig my phone out of my pocket as I head for my office and tap over to the messaging app. Ely’s third on the list of most recent texts, behind Marcus and Ava but above the Uber Eats guy.
Me: I’m sorry about that
Ely: Oh don’t you start
Me: Start what?
Ely: Start pretending like you didn’t want to kiss me back there!
Me: I wasn’t going to say that.
I save the next half of that text for once I’m safely in my office, the door shut. And locked.
Even then my hands are shaking a little as I turn back to my phone, thumbs hovering over the screen for a long moment before I finally type.
Me: Because I did want to kiss you back there.
Ely replies in an actual second, so fast she must have had the response pretyped in.
Ely: Knew it.
Ely: Don’t you think maybe you should have?
I’m struggling to figure out how to respond to that when another notification pops up at the top of my screen: a message from Marcus.
I can’t decide if his timing is incredible or piss-poor.
Marcus: So I was on the train just now and this one guy was selling prints of his photos car to car. They were pretty good, too. Reminded me of you.
I know Ely’s probably staring at her screen waiting for my response, but I tap one out to Marcus instead.
Me: The good photos, or the selling them on the F line for drug money?
Marcus: I think you’re being a little unfair with the last bit, man. On yourself and on subway guy. He’s just trying to catch his break.
In case I needed reminding that I’m an asshole. Here I am, supposed to be clean but still seeing addicts everywhere I go. Even when I’m not physically there.
Marcus: I bought one of his pieces. I’ll show you next time we hang out. Maybe you’ll like them. Or maybe you’ll tell me they’re derivative pieces of trash, who knows. It’ll be a party!
He’s trying to make me feel better in that weird Marcus way of his, but it doesn’t really help. Today already feels like it’s gotten fucked up in so many ways that I’ll never disentangle myself from all of them. The only way out would be to cut the lights and start over from 12:01.
The one part of this I don’t regret is her. Ely.
No matter how idiotic I might act around her, I never regret a single moment I spend with Ely.