Choose Me (The Me Novellas) (14 page)

“
Yeah. I know.”

“
What other options do you have? It’s not like you have a ton of other friends
…
”

I felt my face redden. I’d never had a ton of friends in high school. I hung out with a bunch of different people, but after graduation, we’d all scattered. There were a few alum who were at the U of M with me, but none in my major. And with campuses on either side of the river, I could count on one hand the times I’d seen fellow grads from the small charter school I’d graduated from.

“
I guess I don’t have any,” I said. I made a move to stand up but he held his hand out, gripped my shoulder and pushed me back down. It was the kind of gesture he meant to be comforting, but it rubbed me the wrong way. It felt controlling, condescending.

“
So you figure something out,” he said. “Look, I know you’re freaked out. About a lot of stuff. Graduating. Getting a job. And now this. I get it.”

But he didn’t. Because not once, in everything he’d said, had he mentioned wanting to help. Offering to help.

I traced my finger around the rim of my glass. I knew what I was going to ask him. And I hated myself for even contemplating it. And I hated my parents for putting me in the position to need to do so. But I felt trapped and he was right about one thing. I was freaking out and I felt alone.

“
What do you think about me maybe staying with you?”

The bottle arrested halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“
Me. Staying with you.” I swallowed. “Until I find a place.”

“
At my house?”

“
No. In your garage. I can sleep in the Camaro.”

“
Well, the seats aren’t totally fixed yet, so
…
”

“
Jesus. Not in your garage. Yes. With you.”

He took a deep breath. “Uh. Sure.”

“
You don’t sound too sure.”

He hesitated. “It just sounds
…
I dunno. It sounds like a big step. Moving in together.”

I flinched. His words stung. But I was desperate.

“
Not moving in,” I said. “Not permanently, anyway. Just for a week or two. Until I find a place to live.”

“
Sure. That would be OK.” He scratched his head and took a long swallow of his beer. “So, like, next week then?”

“
Well, yeah.”

“
OK. And what day?”

“
What day am I moving in?”

“
No. What day would you be moving out?”

“
What?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. “You want like a date on the calendar?”

“
No,” he said quickly. “I just meant a rough date. You know, like how long you’re gonna be there.”

“
Oh my God.” I shook my head. “You know what? Forget it.”

He threw up his hands and stared at me. “What? It was just a question.”

Yes. The kind of question that was forcing me to take a stand. I may have been freaked out and I may have been scared, but I was not going to subject myself to a guy who felt less for me than he did for the seats in his Camaro.

“
I haven’t even moved in and you’re already asking when I’m leaving.” This time when I pushed off from the bar stool, he didn’t stop me. And I wouldn’t have let him. “This is a mistake.”

“
Moving in?” I could tell from the tone of his voice that he thought it was, too.

“
No.” I stared at him. Then I traced a circle in the air with my finger around both of us. “This is a mistake. Us.”

“
Katie–”

“
Don’t,” I said. “Don’t make it worse. I’m done.”

“
Done with me?” he sounded incredulous and I wondered if anyone had ever broken up with him before.

Probably not, and I felt a small sense of pride in what I hoped would be a long line of women breaking up with him.

“
I deserve better.”

Ben chuckled. “Better than me? Ha. Good luck.”

Everything he was crystallized in that moment. Good-looking, yes. But completely self-absorbed. A barrage of memories over the last nine months hit me. Dates at the restaurant. Working out at his gym together. Cruising for parts for his Camaro. Jumping into a freezing cold lake because
he
wanted to. Not once did we do things I wanted to do. It was always what Ben wanted. And I’d let him. And the first time I asked for something—that afternoon, sitting in the bar, desperate and alone and needing a place to stay—he’d balked. Because it wasn’t what he wanted.

I tossed a five on the bar and glanced down the bar. Dylan was drying and stacking mugs. He frowned at the cash on the bar, shaking his head, letting me know I didn’t need to pay.

“
You’ll be back,” Ben said. “Begging.”

I left the money in place on the bar and looked at Ben. “Only if I need a mechanic.”

“
Whatever.”

I didn’t say anything, just turned and walked toward the door. I wasn’t going to let him see me cry. Because the crying wasn’t just about him. It was about the downward trajectory my life had taken that day. I wasn’t going to miss him, but breaking up with a boyfriend, no matter how much of a jerk he was, still hurt.

And I
might
have been PMSing.

“
You’ll be back,” he called. “Less than a week.”

I didn’t know where I would be next week. But one thing was crystal clear as I headed back to my car. I wouldn’t be with him.

******

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