Wasted Words by Staci Hart

Mrs. Frank polished off her cookie and dusted off her hands before picking Kafka up. “That’s just silly, Cam.”

“When girls like me get mixed up with guys like him, they get hurt. I’m not interested in being hurt.”

Her fingers massaged the dog’s ears, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her hand. “You think Tyler would hurt you?”

“Not on purpose.”

“Hmm,” was her only response.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s on a date as we speak with a girl who’s absolutely, unerringly amazing.”

“Well, I’ll give you my advice, not that you asked for it. But when you’re ninety-four, aside from having dessert first, you also know to say your piece because who knows if you’ll get another chance.”

I chuckled, and she smiled.

“You can hem and haw about Tyler until the end of days and it won’t change the way you feel or the way he does. You’re not the type to shy away from a problem — you’re the sort that meets it head on. You’re as unstoppable as a Category 5 hurricane. So why shy away from Tyler? You care for him.”

“I do care for him, but not like that.”

She gave me a look at said she knew better.

My cheeks were hot. “Well, I mean who wouldn’t be attracted to him? You’ve seen him.”

She sighed. “Yes, I have. Have you seen yourself?”

I didn’t answer.

“If you care for him, you can’t wait. Life’s too short. Take it from someone at the end of the road looking back.”

“But,” I argued, “he’s on a date. One that I set up.”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’ll work out. Maybe it won’t. Just think about it. Don’t pass up the opportunity just because you’re scared.”

I thought about him almost kissing me the night before and wondered what would have happened if I’d let him, if I hadn’t pulled away. I thought about his lips against mine, imagined how they would feel.

But I wasn’t ready for that disappointment. Don’t date anyone not on your shelf, I told myself, as if repeating it could make it easier to follow through with.

So I thanked her and smiled, changing the subject to her, asking for a story of her past, and she happily obliged with a tale from when she was growing up on a farm in Texas during the depression.

It wasn’t long before she was tired, so I hugged her, squeezing her small body tight before petting Kafka on the head and leaving for my own apartment.

I trudged down the stairs, uncertainty seeping into me, stealing the joy from talking with Mrs. Frank. And the first thing I did after changing into leggings and a T-shirt was hop up on the counter with a gallon of double chocolate fudge and a brain full of what-the-fuck.

I shoved the spoon into the carton crammed between my thighs.

To say I was confused would have been the understatement of the century. I wanted his date with Adrienne to work out so I could hold faith in the universal rules I held to be true. I wanted it to be lukewarm so he could still be single and I wouldn’t have to share him. I wanted it to be a disaster so he’d come home and see me. I mean, really see me. See me as more than just good ol’ Cam, and when he was completely sober.

But I wasn’t … I don’t know. Enough. Sophisticated enough. Sexy enough — at all, if I were being honest with myself. I wasn’t even tall enough, for God’s sake. I was just a fairy-boned dork in glasses with her nose in a book and her head in the clouds.

I turned on music, and even the shuffle on my phone knew I was a mess, playing a random assortment of music from Tool to Chuck Berry, and somehow, every word and every note made me think of Tyler.

I shoveled a rude bite of ice cream into my mouth and ate it too fast, sending a shock of pain behind my eyes and around my head in a burst. Through the blinding pain of the brain freeze, I reached for my glass and chugged the warm water, holding my breath for the second it took to warm my head back up.

What? I’m a pro ice cream binger. I come prepared.

I was halfway into the gallon when decided I should probably stop. I took another bite, rolling the freezing chocolate around in my mouth. I figured I should go to bed. Maybe read a book. I shoveled my loaded spoon into my mouth again, nodding in solidarity. But first, I would definitely stop eating.

So I took another bite. For good measure, and all.

I heard his key in the door and looked toward the sound with wide eyes, not expecting him home so soon. I didn’t move otherwise, not with my thoughts flying through my brain at the speed of light.

When he stepped through the door, he looked … different. Like his body was charged up and tight, determined, but a spark of fear flickered behind his eyes. Eyes that locked on mine with an intensity I didn’t anticipate. Intensity that stopped my heart.

He didn’t break the silence between us, just closed the door and locked it, deposited his wallet and keys on the small table near the door.

I ripped myself out of the trance unwillingly, my eyes finding the ice cream for a distraction as I dug in for a gigantic scoop.

“Hey. How’d it go with Adrienne? Tell me I was right about her.” I stuffed the spoon in my mouth and closed my lips, pulling it out without fanfare, though there was too much to eat at once. I looked up as I pulled the remaining lump out, lips parting as I scraped the top layer of ice cream off.

His eyes weren’t on mine. They were on my lips.

“You were right about her. She’s great, Cam.” His tone was obscure, but his words told me enough.

I smiled and swallowed, feeling the cold move down into my chest. “Told you. Did she look great? Tell me she showed off her legs,” I chattered, my voice a little too high. “The girl’s got some stems.” Shut up, Cam. Stop asking. Stop talking, for God’s sake. The spoon entered my mouth again to stop anything else from coming out.