I hate him.

That’s a lie.

It’d be a lot fucking easier if I hated him. I don’t. I love him, which is the problem. I can’t see past the love, and I need to see past it. If I ever want to feel anything other than blinding hot pain, I need to.

Three months ago, I realized something about myself that was weighing me down. I realized I needed help, and I realized I needed to find it outside of Nate.

I asked for time.

He gave me hours.

“Blake? Did you hear me?”

I blink twice, noticing how dry my eyes feel. I haven’t stopped staring at this screen since we arrived back at the house and Nate ran upstairs while I plunked my ass down on the couch to wallow, which seems to be the usual lately.

“Sorry, no,” I say, dragging my gaze from the scene playing out in front of me, the one that takes place two episodes after where I began watching today. “I was engrossed in this episode.” Elliott gives me a sad smile, not buying my excuse. I ignore it. “What’d you need?”

“I asked if you wanted to order pizza or Chinese. It’s your night to pick.”

“Chinese. We love that place—” The words die on my lips.

We, as in me and Nate, but we aren’t a we anymore. Hell, I’m barely me, and he’s…well, he’s whatever the fuck it is he is.

Fine. Yeah, he’s fine. I’ve heard him toss that word around too often as of late.

I almost believe him.

“Chinese is good,” I tell Elliott. “I’ll have the sesame chicken with white rice. Add on an order of shrimp lo mein and crab rangoon.” I don’t have to tell her the second order is for Nate. I pull my wallet from my back pocket and shove two twenties at her. “Just yell upstairs when it’s here.”

“This is too much, Blake. We always split.”

I wave her off. “It’s fine,” I call out as I take the stairs two at a time.

My chest is on fire by the time I reach my bedroom, and it’s not because I practically ran up here. No, it’s because I slipped up, because it felt natural—because I still fucking want him.

He ripped my heart in two and I. Still. Want. Him. How screwed up is that? How wrong does that make me?

I stalk back and forth, walking away the memories burning holes in my head and in my heart. I don’t think about how he’s right down the hall. I don’t even look at the bed because it taunts me. I don’t call up images of our time spent in this room or this house. They hurt too much. This hurts too much.

The creak of a door opening down the hall rings loud in the quiet upstairs. The noise halts my movements, because Nate’s the only other one upstairs right now.

I rake my hands through my hair, tired and agitated by…well, a lot. The part about all of this that sucks the most is that while I’m doing better with me, I’m still hurt and upset about what happened with Nate.

I felt like he burned a bridge between us, and it’s hard to reconcile how quickly he was able to move on.

“Shit. I didn’t know you were in here.”

His voice slides over me, and the hairs on my arms prickle. I bring my gaze up and meet his surprised stare in the mirror sitting atop our dresser, opposite the bedroom door.

Fuck me. Just looking at his reflection is doing things to me.

“What’d you need?” My voice is gruff, like I’ve just woken up or haven’t spoken in hours.

“I was coming to look for…” He trails off as his eyes fall to the small air mattress smashed between the bed and the wall closest to the door. “What the hell is this?”

He’s angry, but he can’t be angry—I’m the one who should be angry.

“What do you care?” I spit out, finally turning to face him.

“Blake…” My name is whispered, and it sends chills down my spine. I don’t try to hide the reaction. “Are you sleeping on that?”

I swallow the shame sitting in the back of my throat. “So?”

“Why?”

He’s back to sounding angry.

Fucker.

“Why? Are you really asking me why right now?”

“Of course I’m asking you why. Why in the fuck are you sleeping on a goddamn twin-sized air mattress when you can be sleeping on a pillow-top queen-sized bed? Why would you put yourself through that?”

“Again, you’re really asking me that?”

His brows slam together. “Is it because of me? Because of—”

“Because this is the bed we used to share? Because this is the bed where we made love every night? The same fucking bed you whispered you loved me in? Yeah, it’s completely because of you.”

“Blake, I—”

“Why are you in here, Nate? We have rules. You shouldn’t be in here.”

His shoulders sag and I catch myself before I reach out for him, before I take my anger back. “I thought you were still downstairs. You usually are at this time of day…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I was looking for a shirt I left in here, my burnt orange one? Have you seen it?”

My breath stills, and my palms grow sweaty. I keep my eyes on him, as much as it hurts, because I can’t let them wander to my makeshift bed on the floor, can’t let them drift to the pillow, because right underneath is the shirt he’s looking for. It’s the shirt he was wearing right before the party where my heart was ripped from my chest and stomped on.

“Nope. No idea where it is.”

His dark green gaze slides downward to where I’m picking my thumbnail with my index finger. It’s my tell. He knows I’m lying, and I know he knows I’m lying. But, he doesn’t care, and neither do I.

“Okay. I—”

“Do you need anything else?”

“Other than for you to stop interrupting me? No.”

“Good.”

“Good,” he echoes.

Then we stand there, staring at one another with longing.

The silence stretches miles wide between us. It’s so quiet, you can hear the front door close downstairs and a car start up outside.

I realize then that we’re alone in the house.

We haven’t been alone since…

“Did they just leave?” Nate asks.

“I, uh, I think so.”

“Oh.” He scratches at the stubble lining his chin. “Do you want—”

“I have a paper due tomorrow. I should get started on that.”

“Right. Okay.” His shoulders sink lower, and the ache in my heart grows. It’s not slow either. No, it’s fast, speeding through me in a flash. My arms begin to tingle, and I can’t seem to get my shit together.

He quietly closes the bedroom door and I’m alone again. I can hear him clunk down the stairs, know when he flicks on the television. I smile when I hear him laugh.

It’s been a long time since I’ve heard him make that sound.

At the end of last year, life built up around me. My phone was constantly blowing up with phone calls from both my parents because the divorce was officially back on. My grades were slipping, and I was taking my anger out on Nate over and over again. It wasn’t fair to him, so I proposed we take a break before things got to be too much between us, before words were said that we couldn’t take back.

Apparently, Nate heard me propose that we break up for good and proceeded to lose himself in the copious amount of alcohol we had for the party.

Then it happened—the kiss.

It broke me so bad that I didn’t leave my bed for over seventy-two hours, and it wasn’t in a normal we-just-broke-up sort of way. It was worse.

So, I sought out a therapist, realizing I needed someone to talk to who wasn’t going to judge me, who didn’t know every intimate detail of my life.

And, it worked.

It helped me so fucking much. I was able to step back and get the help I needed. Even after the breakup with Nate, after the hurt he caused me, I was still able to put myself first and take action to make me feel better.

It’s been a long road, but I’m getting better. I didn’t wake up wanting to cry this morning. Last night, I didn’t fall asleep wanting to cry, which is a big fucking win for me.

Taking a seat on my air mattress, I grab my phone and scroll through the contacts, needing to find someone to distract me before I do something I know I’ll regret…like take those stairs two at a time and strip off his shirt and run my fingers over that stupid six pack he works so hard for.

Push him up against a wall until my body covers his.

Smash our lips together and kiss him until we’re both utterly breathless.

Let him back into my heart.

I’m not ready for it, so I need a distraction.

Now.

Jake? No.

Abbie? No.

Henry? No.

Mateo? Yes.

Mateo is perfect. We’re in a lit class together and have had a few conversations, but I’ve always kept things light, knowing full well he was interested in a way I couldn’t reciprocate because I wasn’t available.

Not that I’m fully available now, but still.

Am I interested? Could I be interested?

Maybe, and with enough time, yes.

My sole purpose for the time being is to get back out there and put all this shit with Nate behind me. I need to start somewhere, right?

I set my phone back down, hands shaking.

I invited another man over to the house. I’ve never invited anyone over to the house. Why did I do that?

To get back at Nate? No.

To make myself feel better? Yes.

Because I’m afraid to be alone in the house with him?

Shit. That’s exactly what this is. I don’t trust myself to be alone with him. Sure, he’s downstairs and I’m up here, but I don’t trust my feet to not force me by his side.

Sitting there waiting, I try not to panic, but it’s no use.

My breathing is labored, head is swimming, and I cannot believe I’m going to have another man inside this house…inside this bedroom.

Nate is going to kill me.

Kill him.

Shit.

When the doorbell sounds throughout the house, I wonder how long I’ve been sitting up here alone, sunk in my thoughts.

I rush to my feet and race down the hallway, worried Nate will be the first to the door. That can’t happen. Mateo will never make it inside.

He’s just getting to his feet as I hop the last step.

We stand there, staring at one another, saying nothing.

Nate blinks once, twice. His eyes slide toward the front door before falling to slits.

He knows, because he can read me that fucking well.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I drop my head, not meeting his eyes as I take determined steps toward the front door just as the bell sounds again.

I open the door, and there stands Mateo, a huge smile on his face, blond hair windblown, brown eyes sparkling. Mateo’s handsome, there’s no denying that. He’s kind and soft-spoken. We haven’t spent much time together outside of class, but I like what I know of him.

A wall of warmth washes over me.

“Hey, Blake,” Mateo greets, his eyes shooting to Nate standing behind me. “Hey Nate. I didn’t know you’d be here studying too.”

“You two know each other?” I ask.

“Sort of,” Mateo says. “We have a class together.”

“Huh, I had no idea. Well then, come on in.”

Neither of us move. I can still feel Nate hovering.

“Uh, you sure?”

Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I try not to shiver at the look marring Nate’s face. His lips are pulled tight, eyes glaring.

All of this makes it so obvious that he’s upset, but there’s something else there only I could possibly take note of.

He’s hurt.

I can see the way his dark green gaze spins with pain.

For a moment, I feel vindicated. I feel good. He hurt me, and now I’ve hurt him. We’re even.

You’re an asshole, Blake.

I am not this person. I don’t intentionally hurt people. That has never been me, and I shouldn’t let Nate turn me into this kind of harmful creature.

I’m kind and caring and nurturing—even to a fault—but I like that. I like all those parts of me.

The last person I should let take that away from me is Nate.

I return my attention to my guest and step to the side. “I’m sure, Mateo.”

Nate lets out a huff, but I ignore it and plaster on a grin.

Mateo sends another glance Nate’s way before taking the step over the threshold and entering the house.

“Hey Nate,” he mutters as he walks past us both and into the foyer.

His greeting is met with a grunt, and there’s a small part of me that wants to laugh at his gruffness. Another part wants to land a punch right to his pretty, cheating face.

He’s being a prick on purpose.

“Nate.”

My warning is clear, but he doesn’t uncross his arms as counters with, “Blake.”

I abhor the way my name rolling off his lips makes me feel, cannot stand how much I want to run to him the moment he utters it.

“You done?” I ask.

He stands there, strong legs spread wide in a determined stance, eyes hard and serious. I don’t back down from the silent challenge he’s hurling my way.

Mateo clears his throat and our heads snap toward him. He practically cowers at the scowl on Nate’s face.

There’s no way I can bring him up to my bedroom now, not with the way Nate’s staring at him. Instead, I hitch my thumb toward the kitchen. “Let’s go study at the table,” I tell Mateo. “That way we won’t be bothered.”

I throw a pointed look Nate’s way as I pass him. He had better not come in there being obnoxious and troubling us. The last thing I want is another knockdown, drag-out fight with him, let alone having Mateo there to witness it.

My guest hikes his backup up on his shoulder and trudges behind me into the kitchen.

I pull out a chair for him and then one for me, taking a seat. He pulls his bag around to his front and begins taking out the contents.

“Is Nate not joining us?” I shake my head in answer. “Oh, well, thanks for inviting me over,” he says quietly, giving me a shy smile.

“Thanks for coming. I haven’t even started writing that paper yet, and figured having a study buddy to keep me on track wouldn’t be such a bad idea since it’s due tomorrow.”

“You haven’t started on it at all?” he balks. Mateo is a bit of a nerd, which is exactly why I knew he was the one I needed to have here to keep me working and not staring off in space.

Plus, he’s not bad to look at.

“I know. Shame on me. We can’t all be cute bookworms like you,” I tease.

A blush creeps up his face, and for just a moment, a spark of delight streaks through me. Then that nagging voice in my head begins to talk.

Nate wouldn’t like you flirting.

Oh yeah? Well Nate can get bent.

Ugh.

“We’d better get started then. You have your books?”

I slap my hand to my forehead. “Crap. Knew I was forgetting something. Be right back.”

I push my chair back from the table and dart from my seat, racing up the stairs as fast as I possibly can. The last thing I want to do is leave Mateo down there alone with Nate for too long.

I don’t trust him to not scare the poor guy off.

I trample my way back down the stairs in a hurry, barely skidding to a halt before I’m in Nate’s line of sight. I peer around the corner to find his arms crossed over his chest, a whimsical look on his face as he stares off at nothing of significance.

“I remember the first time I realized Blake was something special like it was yesterday,” Nate says quietly.

My body begins to shake with anticipation, waiting to hear the next words he’ll utter.

“Have you known each other long?”

“Since middle school.”

Mateo’s lips twist up as he considers Nate. “Friends through high school?”

“Yep.”

“Really? Wow. I had no idea you two even knew each other. How’d you two scrape through those awkward teen years together?”

My eyes flick back to Nate just in time to see his eyes crinkle at the edges, his lips pulling into a subtle smile.

“We managed.”