Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(42)
Author: Monica Murphy

As I’ve come to realize time and again, it’s natural. She’s my mom. I want to please her and she shits on me every chance she gets. Yet I keep taking it.

“Yeah. I had fun.” There is absolutely no emotion in her voice and it scares me. “Except when I found out you told your sister we’re just friends.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Wait a minute. What did you say?”

“You told Fable—I don’t know when—that we were just friends. Is that how you really think of us? Am I just a friend, Owen? Do you always stick your tongue in your friends’ mouths? Or am I a special friend?”

Shit. She’s pissed. She’s practically yelling at me. “I never told Fable that …” My voice trails off.

I so did. When we were on the phone and Fable was giving me shit. I didn’t want to hear it from her anymore so I said it to shut her up. I never thought Fable would ever say anything and I hadn’t meant a word of it. Well, I guess.

Hell. I don’t know. Chelsea confuses me so completely, I don’t know how or what to think anymore.

Not that Chelsea would ever believe that.

“I thought I—meant something to you, but I guess not. Just wishful thinking on my part,” she says, her voice soft and full of sadness. “I’m being ridiculous.”

I chance a glance at her and see how she’s staring out the window, her expression devastated.

My heart aches. Fuck it, I just did that to her. And I don’t know how to explain myself. Not sure I really want to. I mean, what the hell are we doing, Chelsea and I? I like her, but I can’t take this too seriously.

Fuck. I’m a liar. I hardly know Chelsea but I want to know more. So much more, my heart aches in anticipation of it. Yet she gives me such mixed signals, I never know whether she’s coming or going. Whether she really likes me or not, and that freaking kills me. I was just feeling confident, too. So damn confident, I was letting my guard down. Kissing her in front of Fable, for Christ’s sake, and I don’t do that sort of thing ever.

Never, ever, never.

“Chelsea …” I start, but she shakes her head.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she tells me, cutting me off before I can say anything to explain myself. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

She’s completely pulled away from me again and I hate it. I refuse to let this go. I need to make this better between us, before she pulls away from me even further.

More than anything, I need to apologize for being such a thoughtless ass**le.

I drive for almost an hour, still not fully out of the city, what with traffic slowing constantly until the freeway is feeling almost like a parking lot. I look at Chelsea and see she’s curled up in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the side of the door, her eyes closed tight, her forehead wrinkled with worry, pain—God, I don’t know what.

Determination fills me. That’s it. We should definitely stay the night. She’ll probably be mad but I’m doing it. So what if we miss class in the morning? It won’t kill us. It might kill her, but shit. I’m tired and she’s not feeling well. I’m irritated and she’s trying to sleep.

Not bothering with waking her up, I take the next exit, where I see a few hotel signs flashing in the night sky, and pull into a hotel parking lot. She stirs in her seat, lifting her head when I park the car beneath the overhang and in front of the hotel entrance. Frowning, she turns to meet my gaze.

“Where are we? What’s going on?”

“We’re staying overnight here.” I incline my head toward the front doors.

Her mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely, I’m serious. The weather is for shit, Chels. The freeway is barely moving and I’m exhausted.” Reaching out, I touch her cheek and she flinches—literally flinches—away from my fingers. I let my hand drop, frustration raining through me. My heart hurts. Has she ever rejected my touch before? I can only blame it on her headache.

Oh, and me telling Fable she’s just a friend.

Man, I really f**ked this up.

“You don’t feel well,” I tell her, trying to forget what I said, how much it hurt her. “You need a good night’s rest.”

“But I’ll miss my morning classes,” she protests. “I have an important paper to turn in, too.”

“Is it already finished?” If this were me, I’d be working on that stupid paper at this very minute. I’m the king of procrastination, especially with homework.

“Well, yeah. Of course it is.” She shrugs, chewing on her lower lip.

Why am I not surprised? “Then turn it in later tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure your professor will understand when you explain what happened. It’s not like you ever turn anything in late. They’ll let you off the hook.” I pause, studying her. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning. We’re out of the city somewhat, so it probably should be about a three-hour drive. And everyone will be traveling in the opposite direction, so we should be good. The minute you get home you can go to school and turn in everything you need to.”

“I don’t know …” Her voice drifts and she glances down at her lap. “I have nothing to change into for tomorrow. Nothing to sleep in. No toothbrush.”

I’m still stuck on her nothing-to-sleep-in statement. Sounds good to me. We could crawl into bed naked. I’m totally game. Not that there’s any chance of that happening. “We can pick up a toothbrush and whatever else we need in the hotel, I bet. And we can take a quick shower, go to bed, throw our clothes back on, and head home in the morning. What do you think?”

Does she even hear the order I put that all in? And do I really think I have a chance with her tonight, with the way she’s been acting? How pissed she is with me?

An idiot can hope, I guess.

“Can we get separate beds?” Her cheeks color and she keeps her gaze averted. “I just—I’ll feel more comfortable that way.”

My hopes are smashed into a million pieces with five simple words. Damn. I want to scream at her, what did I do wrong? But I keep my lips clamped shut, trying to control the overflow of emotions that want to escape. I know what I did wrong. It’s just hard to face. God knows, I never want to face anything. “Whatever you want, Chels, I’ll make it happen if I can. Depends on what the hotel has available.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Thanks for being so understanding, Owen.”