24. A Lot of Broken Hearts

CHAPTER 24

A LOT OF brOKEN HEARTS

ABBI

I'm on my back in Weston's bed. He's hovering over me in the plank position, languorously thrusting, while I pant against his tongue and try not to moan too loudly.

“Fuck, Abbi,” he curses. “I don't want it to end. You get me so hot.”

He says this as if I might not understand. As if I’m not the one who's splayed naked on his bed, legs wide apart, worshiping at the altar of Weston's dirty talk and growly kisses.

Is this real life?

“Touch yourself, baby.”

“W-what?” I whisper.

“Touch yourself and let me watch.” He looks down at me, eyes gleaming. “I did it on camera. You can do it in bed, right? There's nobody to see but me. And I really want to see.”

He punctuates this big idea with another steamy, brain-bending kiss. And I can't think anymore. I can't remember who I was before I became Weston’s plaything. And I can’t remember why I should ever leave his bed. Everything is perfect here.

“Go on,” he rasps. “I want to watch.”

So I don't even hesitate. I reach down between our bodies and slowly stroke myself, while Weston presses himself up on his delectable arms and drinks in the sight of us merging together.

“ Fuuuck ,” he breathes. “Get there for me, Abbi. I need to hear you come.”

And I do—instantly—and it’s probably because my fragile little heart heard those first three words the loudest: " I need you ."

If only he truly meant it.

Afterward, we lie together in a blissed-out, sweaty heap. This must be what heaven is like. We've had cake. We've had fantastic sex. And even now, Weston is stroking my back, staring into my eyes, looking at me like I matter.

I want to believe him. So badly. But the problem is that I know better. Tonight has been great. But it’s also offered me a painful reminder of how things really are.

Weston’s kitchen provides near perfect acoustics into the living room. So I’d heard that girl arrive—Cara. And I’d happened to peek out of the kitchen, watching and listening while he blundered her name.

He’d felt bad about it. Weston isn’t an asshole.

But maybe I am. Because something propelled me to step out and claim him. I could blame hormones, I guess. The truth is that I feel a giddiness at being Weston’s woman of the hour. And when he’d slipped an arm around my shoulder, I felt like a queen.

But then? When I’d gone back into the kitchen, I’d also overheard Tate and Vonne ribbing Weston about his allergy to commitment. That had been hard to hear, even if I knew it was the truth.

Weston and I will be separated the minute after I graduate. He’ll become my nicest memory of my time at Moo U. But I already know that he won’t become my long-term boyfriend—either fake or otherwise.

Still, when I’m able to live in the moment, life is pretty great. After Weston and I had inverted the cake onto a big platter he’d found in a cupboard, I’d iced it with my gooey pecan frosting. Then I let it cool a little so the icing could set.

Weston had suggested we watch the end of the game before treating a house full of hockey players to cake. And I’d sat tucked against him in the living room. Together we'd watched the last half hour of the game. And every fifteen minutes, a freshman refilled my soda glass, just as Weston had ordered.

That’d meant I needed to pee. So when the game was nearly over, I’d climbed the stairs to the second floor to use Weston's bathroom.

As I walked along the carpet runner stretching down the hallway, I’d heard voices spilling out from behind a door that was open a crack.

“I’m such an idiot,” the girl had sobbed. “I really thought he liked me.”

It was Cara. And I’d frozen in place, shamelessly eavesdropping.

“Even though he never answered your texts?” her friend had prompted gently.

“I thought maybe he changed numbers.”

“Oh, Cara.”

“I know, okay? I know . It’s just hard to understand. We had a great time that night. Not just a hot time. I felt a real connection. We talked half the night. And the sex was over the top.”

“Oh honey. I'm sorry. Weston is…”

I’d stopped breathing.

“He leaves a lot of broken hearts in his wake. It’s not intentional, I bet. He just has this talent for making everyone feel special. But connection isn’t his end goal. It’s fun.”

“I am fun,” her friend had sobbed.

“Right, but you live across town, so he’s already forgotten how much fun you are. He avoids entanglements, Cara. He lives in the moment.”

“Ugh,” she’d said, and I’d heard copious nose-blowing. “It just stings. I’ve been thinking about him since November. But he didn’t spend any of that time thinking about me.”

Then she’d dissolved into tears again, and I’d hurried toward the bathroom.

That poor girl. My heart breaks for her, because I'm pretty sure her friend has it exactly right. Weston is just like she said—a great guy who lives for fun, with a talent for making everyone feel special.

Right this moment he's massaging my shoulder with a loving hand. I feel the same wonderful connection between us that Cara had. But one day soon I'll be Cara. I’ll be sitting in my tiny New York apartment, wishing he’d return my texts.

Or maybe I'll run into Weston someday at a reunion. He'll call me Amy or Annie. “ It's Abbi ,” I'll say.

And he'll feel bad that he's forgotten. But he will have forgotten.

Just ask Cara.

"Abbi," he says suddenly. And I startle, as if my thoughts are so loud that he might overhear them.

"Mmm?" I say casually. As if any of this were casual for me. Maybe Weston doesn’t know how to do commitment, but I'm just the opposite. I crave commitment. And love. A family, and a place to call home. All the things I don’t have in my life.

“Where did you go?” he asks.

“No place at all,” I assure him, lifting my face to smile at him. “I’m right here.”

It’s just that I wish I could stay. Even though I know I can’t.