Chapter Seventeen

SEVENTEEN

Hindsight is a smug asshole. When I stumble into my apartment in a daze, I can't even make it to the green room. I get as far as the bedroom and fall face-first onto the mattress without taking off my coat. Hindsight is sitting in the dark corner, studying its nails with a condescending smirk, until it deigns to turn to me and say in a prim voice: I was wondering when you'd get here. Was it not glaringly obvious this would happen?

It is now. It wasn't thirty minutes ago. It would've been nice to get a warning in advance.

Hindsight sniffs. Not my thing. You're looking for my cousin, foresight.

Yeah. I've been looking for foresight my whole life.

If I'm honest with myself, I didn't need foresight this time. I had Kat, and I didn't listen. I knew what Ben and I were doing, I knew what direction it was going. It was escalating, but I enjoyed it too much and didn't put a stop to it in time. I played a game of chicken and crashed.

And here is what I learned from the experience: I wanted it to happen. For the first time in a long time, I wanted something. Not out of fear, or self-protection, or to avoid something else. I wanted it badly, for its own sake.

That almost-kiss felt like a boat engine revving in my body, my blood beginning to thrum like the surrounding water, brought to life by the energy of it. Who knew I was still capable of feeling that way about a guy?

But I didn't go through with it. That's worthy of a pat on the back. I vowed not to repeat the Oliver mistake, and I didn't cave.

There were other good reasons not to do it. The job, for one. Plus, we haven't cleared the air about Maynard, and I'm not ready for that conversation. Barely five minutes ago, Ben and I couldn't stand each other, and imagining his reaction makes me sweat.

But none of that is fair. Neither of us signed up for the pressure we're under at work. And Maynard is supposed to be gone, no longer a factor in my life, my decisions, my anything. Definitely not here, right in between Ben and me.

If it weren't for him—well, I can't even think about what I'd be doing right now. Tonight would be different. Everything would be different.

And what about Oliver? It can't get better than this, that's what I'm supposed to remember, but it doesn't feel true. Kissing Ben would've made this night way, way better. My mistake with Oliver wasn't getting physical. It was believing him when he said we had a future together. A celebratory make-out session after winning the conference title wouldn't have hurt anyone. We can kiss without falling in love. All we have to do is not make promises.

I sit up and turn on a lamp. It's just me in the room. No imaginary friends or enemies here, telling me what I can or should do, or how it's going to go wrong. Fuck all those ghosts.

I'm going to do what I want. I'm going to kiss Ben Callahan.