Eating Her Heart Out

And then he walked away. The jerk.

I was not a happy camper as I stomped down the stairs for the party that was already in full swing. Making a beeline for the punch bowl, I poured myself a glass and guzzled it down before refilling my glass. I had never been much of a drinker—the only shot I’d had on my twenty-first birthday had been more than enough to make me tipsy and get me up on the bar. Not that I’d really needed an excuse since it’d been a blast—but I had a feeling I was going to need some liquid courage to make it through tonight.

“Hey, Katie! There you are,” Shelly cried as she flung her arm around my shoulders. Several other girls from her pledge class, the newest members of our sorority, crowded around us. “What took you so long to come down?”

I had no desire to share what was going on with me, but I didn’t want to outright lie to them either. So I decided to keep my answer as vague as possible. “I was just taking care of a few last-minute things.”

“Ooh.” Maya clapped her hands together and whisper-yelled, “Did you get a stripper?”

“What? No!” I shook my head. “Why would you even think that?”

She shrugged and giggled. “I don’t know. I guess because it’s Valentine’s Day, and I was kind of hoping you’d work some Cupid-style matchmaking magic for one of us.”

“Totally makes sense to me.” Shelly jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Look how well it worked out for Delia and Danny.”

“That actually makes sense in a really weird way.” Probably because of the alcohol even though I’d only had one glass of punch so far. But that was apparently enough for me, so I set my drink down on the long table we used as a bar for parties. “Sorry, girls. No strippers were ordered for this party.”

“Darn.” Shelly puffed out her bottom lip in a dramatic pout. “I guess there’s only one thing we can do then.”

“What?” Maya asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Drink more shots!” Shelly screamed.

“Shots! Shots! Shots,” the other girls chanted as Maya grabbed a bottle of vodka and started pouring. While they were focused on what she was doing, I moved away from the group and searched for a dark corner where everyone would be less likely to notice me.

I was so happy for my friends who had found love but watching them being all lovey-dovey on Valentine’s Day was killing me. I wanted to be out there on the dance floor, surrounded by my sorority sisters while Sawyer and I swayed to the music together with his big, strong arms wrapped around me while our bodies were pressed together. I wanted to be able to call him my boyfriend and show him off to all my friends. And I wanted those darn roses to have come from him.

Standing in the corner at a party was completely out of character for me, but Valentine’s Day was what finally broke me. I’d been eating my heart out over Sawyer for too long.

Yanking my cell phone out of my pocket—big yay for dresses with pockets—I stabbed my finger against the screen to pull up my text thread with Sawyer. His last message, asking me if I had big plans today, made me even angrier. If he was as into me as I was him, the last thing he’d want to hear was that I was going to spend the day being romanced by someone else.

The possibility that he was celebrating the romantic holiday with another woman was the push I needed to finally say what I’d been thinking for a while.

Me: Remember when I told you about my future husband?

The message flipped from delivered to read in a split-second, which soothed some of my anger.

Sawyer: Of course. I remember every single thing you’ve ever said to me.

Gah! When he said sweet stuff like that, it only made me fall for him more. I couldn’t keep doing this with him, though. I needed to come clean about my feelings, and if they weren’t returned, I wasn’t sure if we could stay friends. At least not right now. Maybe when I was old and gray, I’d finally get over him and could get back in touch.

Me: I’ve decided that maybe I was wrong.

Sawyer: How so?

Me: It’s actually possible that he isn’t it for me, and my mind can change.

Three little dots popped up beneath my message, letting me know that he was typing out a reply. But I was already on a roll, so I didn’t wait to see what he said before my thumbs were moving on my screen again.

Me: In fact, I think he’s probably all wrong for me if he’s too dumb to see how perfect we would be together.