Before I can open the door, she touches my arm. “Look, I’m really not here to bust your ass. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I do, thanks.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, the Ethan Holt who broke my heart looks an awful lot like the one you’re dating.”
“He’s changed since then.”
She leans back against the sink and crosses her arms. “Let me paint you a picture.” I can already tell I’m not going to like this story. “He grudgingly agreed to let people know you were dating, but he doesn’t act like a real boyfriend. No dates, very little public affection, and it’s like pulling teeth to get him to talk about his feelings or mood swings. Sound familiar?”
I keep my face impassive, even though my adrenaline has kicked up a notch. “I don’t know what to tell you. I like him. A lot. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Olivia shakes her head. “You don’t get it, do you? You probably think it won’t happen to you, because you’re different or special, and maybe you’re right. But that’s not the problem. You may be different, but he’s not, and he’s the one who’s going to destroy you. Tread carefully. That boy is an avalanche just waiting to happen.”
“So this chick is, what, stalking you now?” my roommate, Ruby, asks as she struggles to open a can of tomato soup.
“Sort of, but I get the feeling she’s kind of trying to look out for me.”
“Yeah, well, bitch needs to step off. That’s my job. Still, she’s right. I can’t believe he’s never taken you on a real date. It seems like the man doesn’t have a single romantic bone in his body.” She dumps the soup into a saucepan.
“He’s not that bad.”
“Cassie, we did the ‘How Romantic Is Your Guy?’ quiz from Cosmo, and Holt’s results were ‘This Man Doesn’t Know He’s Your Boyfriend.’ It’s freaking ridiculous.”
I check on the premade rolls I’d put in the oven a few minutes ago. They’re still way too pale. “He’s been hurt before. He just doesn’t show his affection like normal guys, I guess.”
“And how does he show his affection? Because from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t kiss or hug you hello, he barely holds your hand, he slept with you once but won’t do it again. There are no presents, no dates, and no epic love poems written while high on peyote.”
I frown. “What was that last thing?”
“Never mind. Long story. My point is, the boy has zero romantic game, and you’re the one who’s suffering. I can’t believe you’re not more pissed about this.”
“Well, I’m not happy about it, but what can I do?”
“Okay, here’s my advice. You’re being a doormat.”
“That’s not advice. It’s a statement. And an insulting one at that.”
“Dammit, Cassie, woman up!” She stirs the soup aggressively. “He’s treating you like crap because he’s got issues or whatever, but that’s no excuse.” She pours some milk into the saucepan. “Call him on his bullshit or else stencil WELCOME on your boobs and be done with it. It’s your choice.”
I know she’s right, but I can’t help feeling like one wrong move with Ethan could have disastrous results.
“Oh, crap.” Ruby frowns at the saucepan, then picks up the soup can and reads the instructions.
“What?”
“I think I’ve fucked this up.”
“How is that possible? It’s soup. From a can.”
“I put in too much milk. Apparently, I was supposed to measure it or some bullshit.” She dips in her spoon and sips it.
“What’s it taste like?”
She shrugs. “Tomato-flavored milk.”
I sigh and lean against the counter. “Not the weirdest thing you’ve ever made.”
“Nope.”
“Serve it in mugs?”
“Okay. At least we have rolls.”
“Oh, frack!” I open the oven door and smoke wafts out. When I pull out the baking sheet, the rolls are black. “Dammit.”
“Who’s the bad cook now? You were only in charge of reheating, for God’s sake.”
We stand there for a few moments and look at the pathetic remains of our horrible dinner. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I have an urge to call Ethan to see if he’d come over and cook something for us, but I figure if he wanted to talk or spend time with me, he’d let me know.
“Wine?” I ask.
Ruby sighs. “Most definitely. I don’t think I can fuck that up.”
“Word.”
Oh, God. Ow.
I wince as I open my eyes. Sunlight pierces my pounding brain like an ice pick.
I’m on the floor, surrounded by wine bottles and pizza boxes. Judging from the disgusting taste in my mouth, I not only drank way too much last night, I also smoked a crapload of cigarettes. My mouth feels like the floor of a cock-fighting ring.
As I stretch and rake my tongue across my teeth, I see Ruby lying on the couch, her arm thrown over her face.
I really hope she feels this bad when she wakes up. Even though I can’t remember much about last night, I’m almost positive it’s her fault.
My head throbs and my stomach churns, and when I put out an arm to steady myself, something on my hand catches my eye. My knuckles have the word “HOLT” written on them in black eyeliner.