Ask Me (Mess with Me 2)

“What’s the big deal? She’s trying to figure out how to deal with seeing him again. If she can’t handle seeing him online then it’s only going to be worse seeing him in person.”

I crinkle my nose. “You can be really logical sometimes. And then you do things like wear a wetsuit in the house as loungewear.”

Ari winks, “One day all of the weird shit I do will make sense. In the meantime, scroll on through.”

She hands me her phone. Andre’s Instagram profile is already displayed. I click the last picture. It was posted this morning. The background appears to be his office. He’s drawing something and completely focused on it. The caption reads, Hard at work on Lavin Couture’s new evening wear line.

It’s completely impersonal and I’m sure it was written by his social media team. But even looking at this bland picture, I feel an undeniable pull. I’m supposed to be desensitizing myself to him and instead I’m just being pulled in harder.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about him. Why can’t I stop wanting him?”

“You’ve been dickmatized,” Ari says sagely like she’s imparting some ancient wisdom. “Mesmerized by good dick. Don’t feel alone. It’s happened to me before and I thought I was immune. I mean, really? Who among us has not been dickmatized at least once in our lives?”

Mya taps her chin. “She makes a good point. Great sex can make anyone do crazy things.”

“But it wasn’t just the sex. It was the talking. And the way he made me feel like I could do anything.”

“Sounds like love to me,” Mya comments.

“It was. At least for me. But after everything that happened, I did what I always do when I’m scared. Run away.”

“What are you really scared of here?” Mya asks. “Because I don’t think it’s just the fact that those pictures were published. They were terrible, of course. But they were blurry and you couldn’t really see much. Somehow I don’t think a blurry shot of bathroom sex is really what this is about.”

“He tried to prepare me for how bad public life can be but I don’t think I really understood how famous he is. It’s one thing to know that he has ten million Instagram followers. It’s another thing to have those followers leaving hate comments and calling you a slut. Saying that you’re not pr

etty enough to be with him.”

“You know those bitches are just jealous, right?” Ariana interjects. “Just checking. Because they’re all jealous. Hell, I’m jealous. You got it on with one of the hottest men on the planet so no matter who you were, they were going to say those things.”

“I get that.”

Mya squeezes my hand. “But that’s not what this is really about. You’re worried he’s secretly thinking those things, too. That maybe he’s just having some fun while he’s in town and he’s going to go back to dating some model when he’s bored with you.”

Taken aback by how accurate that is, I lean my head back on the couch. “I’m so stupid. He didn’t do anything wrong and I made him feel like it was all his fault. Now he’s done what I asked him to and given me space. How do I go back and say, Just kidding! I was being an insecure jealous cow.”

When I’m done, Ariana rolls her eyes. “Why is everyone in love so annoying? First this one,” she points at Mya, “and now you, too. Love is a disease.”

“Don’t listen to Mistress Bitterness over there. Underneath her skepticism and hatred for all things emotional, she really wants you to be happy. Which is why we are going to distract you with the breakup cure.” Mya hops up and heads into the kitchen.

“What is the breakup cure?” I ask.

Ariana grabs the remote again. “It’s the time-honored tradition of eating ice cream and watching tons of chick flicks.”

Mya comes back with several pints of ice cream, three spoons and then grabs the blanket hanging over the edge of the couch. “Things will work themselves out. I truly believe that. But tomorrow is soon enough to start being responsible and strong. Today, we eat ice cream.”

I accept the spoon Ariana hands me. Going back to work tomorrow is definitely going to be strange but I plan to walk into the office with my head held high.

Then I can start figuring out how to start running to Andre instead of away.

Walking back into Mirage isn’t the dramatic movie entrance I thought it would be. In my head I’d planned out how I’d walk bravely through the doors and sit proudly behind the reception desk with my head held high against any criticism.

In reality, I walk in and no one notices or cares.

It’s refreshingly normal. As Mya reminded me last night, we live in the age of the twenty-four hour news cycle. No matter how big of a splash something makes, it’s quickly replaced by something else.

“Welcome back.” Anya rounds the edge of the front desk and leans on the counter next to me.

“Thank you. I’m glad to be back. Although I’ll miss having my mom’s cooking.”