Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
As I shower I think of Greer. My thoughts always go to Greer, but I’m not about to jerk off in my childhood home. I did that plenty growing up.
Oh if these walls could talk. I chuckle as I exit the shower and get dressed in record time, tossing on a pair of jeans and black turtleneck sweater.
I need to make peace with my mother. I’ll never move forward until I do. I’ll never overcome my anxiety with the thoughts that I’m not good enough for Greer looming in the back of my mind.
TWENTY-FIVE
GREER
I slept like shit last night. To be honest, I’ve slept like shit the entire few weeks Roman’s been gone. After I poured my heart out, confessing my love for him, he left without a word. And since then, reaching him has proven impossible.
Not that I've made any attempts.
In truth, I haven't even glanced at my phone much. Everywhere I turn, I’m reminded of memories of our fauxmance.
I finally broke down and made Ledger tell me if Roman was at least okay.
He confirmed he’s working through some things while staying at his parent’s house. And I respect that.
At least I try to respect it. Above all else, I will remain Roman’s best friend. That fact will never change.
Even if I laid out my heart for him to crush. I won’t ever let him know that it affected me like it did. That his words, or lack thereof, crushed my soul.
I answer a few emails from headhunters trying to land me work, but even though I’m now one of the most sought after lawyers in the city, I don’t really want to work for another big law firm.
Maybe I’ll write a book.
Or teach.
Or become the next Martha Stewart. I giggle at the thought of that, and slam my laptop shut. My phone rings, and my heart nearly leaps into my throat at the thought that Roman’s calling me. I glance at the caller ID, and let out a sigh.
“Hey Dev,” I say into the phone after answering.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, already picking up on the lack of cheer in my voice.
I shake my head, trying to push away the sadness I’m feeling from Roman’s rejection. I haven’t mentioned to Devereaux the extent of what went down between Roman and me, but I’m sure he knows something happened. “Nothing’s wrong.”
My brother accepts my answer, and changes the subject. “I called Dad.”
My eyes widen in utter disbelief, nearly bulging with shock. “And?”
“And we’re meeting tomorrow to talk.”
Tears well in my eyes at the thought of them working things out. “I’m happy you called him.”
“You don’t sound too happy. Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I miss him.”
“Dad?” my brother asks, but then I hear the realization dawn on him as he comprehends who I’m referring to. “Oh, Roman?”
“I hate that I do, but I’m worried about him more than anything else.”
“I won’t pretend to understand what the two of you have going on, but I’m no dummy. I know it’s more than friendship. And I think Roman’s feeling like he’s broken somehow.”
“Broken?”
“Greer, anxiety is a big hurdle to overcome. Most people never overcome it. They live with anxiety for the rest of their lives. I can’t even pretend I know what he’s going through, but I have to believe he’ll find his way back home.”
Home.
I think about that word and what it might mean to Roman. What it means to me. Having Roman stay with me while masquerading as a couple was life-changing. It made me realize it’s all I’ve ever wanted.
“Are you mad that I’ve fallen in love with your best friend?”
My brother laughs. “Greer, I’ve always known you had a thing for him. And I’ve always known he’s had a thing for you too.”
If that’s true, then why did he leave? I want to ask my brother, but instead I remain silent. We chat for a few more minutes about our father, and I ask about my little nephew and how he’s doing.
After we hang up, Dev sends some snapshots of Devvie Jr., and I smile as I glance at the photos. And then, the acid in my stomach churns, and I rush to the bathroom and get sick.
For the remainder of the afternoon, I lie on my couch, a sense of unease gnawing at my insides until a realization strikes me like a bolt of lightning—I haven't had my monthly visitor in what feels like an eternity. A wave of apprehension washes over me as I rack my brain, trying to recall the last time I experienced it, only to realize it was before Roman started staying here.
Once my stomach settles, I muster the resolve to venture to the drugstore in search of answers. As I wander the aisles, my mind swirls with uncertainty, pondering which pregnancy test to select, each box holding the weight of potential life-altering news.