Reasonable Doubt: Volume 3 (Reasonable Doubt 3)

“Aubrey—”

“What brings you to New York, huh? Did you need to come back and f**k some familiar women on Date-Match? Did Durham somehow run out of pu**y?”

“It’s actually starting to feel that way.”

She started to close the door, but I held it still with my hand.

“I miss you, Aubrey…” I looked directly into her eyes. “I really do, and I’m…I’m sorry for kicking you out that night.”

“You should be.” Her voice was a whisper. “And if you really miss me, you’ll leave me alone.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re bipolar. Because the second I ask one too many questions, or suggest something outside of your comfort zone, you’ll treat me like trash again and I’d rather cut my losses now.” She wiped a tear from her eyes. “I was your only friend—your only f**king friend, and you treated me worse than any of the women you met online. If anything, I’m sorry that I ever let you do that. Please leave.”

“Aubrey, listen…”

“Is there super glue on my floor?” She pushed me down a step. “Is that why you’re still standing there?”

“Please, just—”

“Lie about one thing, lie about it all, right?” She pushed me again. “You’re still the biggest liar between the two of us. Lying by omission is still lying.”

“Can you please calm down and let me talk about this with you inside?”

“I thought you hated rhetorical questions.” She slammed the door in my face.

A Priori Assumption (n.):

An assumption that is true without further proof or need to prove it.

Aubrey

I woke up the next morning on edge, in utter shock.

I couldn’t believe Andrew was in New York, couldn’t believe he’d admitted missing me on my front steps last night.

Seeing him again brought out every emotion in me, and even though I’d told Brian that Andrew and I were done, I’d spent the rest of our date last night thinking about him.

Him and his perfect suit. Him and his perfect lips that nearly pressed against mine as we argued. And, shamefully, him and his perfect c**k that I felt hardening in his pants as he dipped me on the dance floor.

Ugh!

I got out of bed and sent Brian a text. “Today is my one on one day with Ashcroft…Wish me luck!”

His response came immediately. “Good luck, babe! Get some coffee, you’re going to need it…”

Slipping into the shower, I scolded myself. “Brian is a sweetheart and he’s good for you…He may suck at phone sex, and you may have no desire to sleep with him right now, but he treats you better than you’ve ever been treated before…”

When I was wrinkled and prune-like, I stepped out and checked the time.

4:30 a.m.

I had twenty minutes to make it to the closest subway station and avoid the ire of Ashcroft. Throwing on some old sweatpants, I grabbed my ballet bag and snatched my coat from the bannister in the hallway. I double checked my wallet to make sure I had my metro pass, and when I opened the door, I found myself face to face with a stranger and a cup of steaming hot coffee.

“Good luck at practice today,” he said, handing it over. “This was made especially for you.”

“Since when do coffee shops deliver?”