"Er...okay." I lose my balance, going through the pages without focusing on their content. It's still too hot for my liking, but I'm starting to think it might just be me.

"Are you nervous about your fight with Eoghan Doherty? June 13th is less than two months away."

“No, but he should be.”

I continue the interview with a lump in my throat. The AC is on, and I know why I'm hot. I'm hot because I'm nervous. I'm nervous because I hated what I've seen outside his house, in his yard.

But I still can't hate him.

Frankly, sadly, I'm not even close to hating him right now. And that's just a crying shame for Heart and Brain.

Chapter Ten

I’m not ready to face Ty again yet, now that I've seen the fence, the bra, the letters.

After mentally falling apart.

I go to the I Prevail gig with Shane the next night, and he finds himself a shiny, new toy while I’m in the bathroom. A freshman, American history major named Gemma.

Well, at least he's off my back now.

Time drags painfully slowly all week. Izzy is still working abroad, and I spend my days lonely as a cloud. Everyone around me seems to be busy with life, with planning their summer, with living, while I go back to floating through life aimlessly, with only school to keep me going. If you really need a description of what my life looks like right now, I'll keep it short and simple: meh.

I study during the days and work at night. Ty calls once, the day after the interview while I was at the concert with Shane, but I didn't pick up. A pile of text messages he left remains unanswered.

Sunday: Feel like catching a movie or something?

Monday: So I tried listening to Neck Deep, that band I saw on your playlist. What's their deal? They sound like Blink-182, but they're British.

Tuesday: Hey gorgeous, your music sucks

Wednesday: Have I been humped and dumped, Barbie? I'm shocked and hurt

Thursday: Okay, the shock and hurt just turned into anger. WTF, Blaire?

Friday: Fine.

This was his last word. Fine. Only it isn't fine, because I keep thinking about him. I just can't give in and date him. Rottweilers don't turn into neutered Chihuahuas. I don't want to get hurt, but my days without him seem empty, boring, lacking. I'm desperate to stay away. I need to stay away. But I'm no longer sure which will hurt more—staying away or seeing him.

So on Saturday, when I know I'm ahead of my game with the MMA assignment and well prepared for an upcoming exam, have already finished scrubbing the apartment clean and have ticked every single to-do-list box I have hanging on my fridge, I text him back.

Sorry, had a busy week. What's up?

The ball is in his court, but what if he's already headed to a different court, playing with someone not as uptight?

He doesn't answer. I know for a fact that Saturday is not a busy day for him. I learned his training schedule by heart back when I hung around The Grind.

To make matters worse, I have the weekend off from Ned's. I booked it in advance long ago so I can concentrate on my assignment. Now I have nothing to do but sit around and think about the fact I might have lost him. Lost him because I'm a coward. The one guy I actually liked in a very long time.

I barely get any sleep between Saturday and Sunday.

In the morning, I wash my face, examine the dark circles underneath my eyes and throw on a red plaid shirt, black leggings and deep-red chucks to match my bloodshot eyes.

Before I have the time to regret it, I make my way to Ty's place in my pink Mini. Sunday is a relatively free day for him, with a sparring session at noon and nothing else. He may not be home—or worse, may be home with someone else—but something in me can't seem to stay away.

I pull to the curb in front of his house and slam my car door, still debating whether to do this or not.

I breathe hard, my chest hurting from excitement and fear, when I notice the fence. I blink the surprised sting out of my eyes.

The fan mementos? Gone. Everything, from undies to bikinis. The mailbox has been emptied. I rush forward, peeking through the slightly ajar gate, and I take it as an invitation to walk in.

The bra on the Harley is gone.

Everything I hated, vanished.

I can stand here for forever and study it in wonder. The fence, so clean, so pure, its gate so inviting for me to walk through. My feet hurry into his front yard, and I rap on his door twice.

"Yeah?" Ty opens the door and stares down at me, aloof. I expect his expression to defrost into one of those smiles he saves especially for me.

When it doesn't happen, I bounce on the balls of my feet nervously and look down. "Hey." I've missed his face. "Your fence looks nice."

His jaw is still tense. I get it. I get him. I disappeared for a week. So why can't he get how intimidating it is to date a guy like him when you're so used to being alone, so used to the nickname Boring Blaire? MMA fighters don't exactly have a reputation for being the best boyfriends.

"Guess I'm not the slob you thought I was, after all."

Touché.

"Wanna hang out or something?" I shoot him a hopeful glance.

He folds his arms on his chest, still unimpressed. "You want more stuff for your interview, huh?" he asks coldly.