“I’m sorry, Carter.” She sniffs and wipes away her tears. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”
“Myla . . .” I squeeze her shoulder, and she leans into me, placing her head on my chest. “I’m the one who owes you an apology. I should’ve waited until you got back into town to tell you about Teagan and me. I handled it badly, and I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand why she gets more and I’m only good for . . .” She sniffs then straightens, wiping her cheeks. “Damn it, I’m so pathetic.”
“You’re not. And I am sorry.”
“I really didn’t mean to fall for you.” She lifts her chin as if she’s grappling to find her pride. “We’re friends, and we were never supposed to be more. You never led me to believe otherwise. But I . . . wanted to.”
“I’m really sorry.” I could repeat myself a hundred times, but the words aren’t enough. I never meant to hurt her, but saying so now makes me sound like a massive cliché. Like I’m just an ass who’s delivering lines to get himself out of trouble.
“So . . . Teagan?”
I nod, and my stomach knots. “Yeah.” For now. And maybe not even that. This afternoon felt like it was about more than pleasure, more than getting off, but when she got that text, she shut me out. For months I’ve been dodging anything that resembled commitment, but suddenly I’m getting this ache in my gut when I imagine letting Teagan go. It doesn’t matter if this weekend is pretend. I already know it’ll hurt to see it end. Months messing around with Myla and Bethany and I was never tempted, but a couple of days pretending with Teagan and I already wish I knew how to make it real.
Myla drops her gaze to her shoes. “I know it sounds pathetic to ask, but what about her made you change your mind about relationships?”
“She’s . . .” Fucking amazing. Fun. Sexy as hell. And sweet in the most surprising ways. And this morning when she asked about my nightmare, I thought maybe she really might understand what I’ve been going through. “I’ve been carrying a torch for Teagan for a long time, and once she gave me a chance, I knew I didn’t want to let her go.”
Myla nods. “I’m so lonely, Carter. Maybe you and I aren’t a love match, but sometimes I think I’m not going to be a love match with anyone, and that is a really crappy feeling.”
Her words are a blow to the chest. I know what that feels like. I was searching for someone special for years before I changed my ways. Being alone and wondering if I’d ever find someone to spend my life with sucked, and I hate that I’m making Myla feel that. She’s my friend and I care about her, but right now it’s pretty clear that I should have been more careful with her feelings. “You’re incredible, Myla.” I blow out a breath and drag a hand through my hair. “In fact, I work with a couple of guys who have been hounding me for your number. Hank, in particular, really likes you.”
She smiles slowly and looks up at me through her lashes. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I swear she stands a little taller. “You could give Hank my number. I mean . . . if that wouldn’t be too weird for you.” She blows out a breath. “But only if he’s looking for a relationship. I think this thing with you taught me something about myself.”
“I’ll make sure. And I’ll make sure he knows that you’re an important friend to me, so he’d better not hurt you—not that I’d set you up with anyone I thought might intentionally hurt you.”
“You’re a really good guy, Carter.” She squeezes my arm. “I hope Teagan knows how lucky she is.”
“Eh, I’m the lucky one in that relationship.”
She shakes her head, her hair swaying across her shoulders. The tear tracks drying on her cheeks glisten in the light from the street lamps. “See what I mean? That’s something a good guy would say.” She lifts onto her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll see you around.”
I grab her hand before she can walk away. “Myla, wait.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t make this harder.”
“No . . . I wanted to say thank you. For everything.”
Her eyes are full of tears, but none fall. “You’re the worst kind of heartbreaker, Carter.”
I flinch. “I don’t mean to be.”
“I know. That’s exactly what makes you the worst. This would be easier if I could hate you. Even a little.” She pulls her hand from my grasp and jogs down the alley to the front of the building.
I lean back against my car and close my eyes.
“Did you mean it?”
I open my eyes to my brother, who’s walking toward me with his hands tucked into his pockets. I tense. I’m not ready for another lecture. Even if I fucking deserve it. “Mean what?” I ask warily.