Me: I fucked up with Brooke.

The phone barely touches the dark wood of my nightstand before it starts ringing.

“That was fast,” I tensely answer, wiping a quick hand over my face to collect the water dripping from my hair. “Please tell me you weren’t expecting that message and waiting around for it. I like to think my chances with this woman weren’t doomed from the start.”

“How the hell should I know about your chances? I’ve never met her,” Tessa replies, her tone helplessly clever. “And last time we talked, you said she was warming up to you, and that you’ve been seeing a lot of each other. Quite a bit, I believe were your exact words. Based on those two facts right there, I’d say you were doing better than a chump who was doomed from the start. I doubt she would’ve spent any time with you if that were the case.”

“Right, well, as lovely as that thought is, our time together may be over. I’m not sure how warm she is to the idea of me anymore after what I’ve put her through.”

“Oh, Christ. What did you do? And please, don’t skimp on the information. Reed still likes to leave out important details to stories just to make himself sound better. It never works. If you want my advice, I’m going to need to know exactly how you fucked up. Like you can’t tell me Brooke hates you now because you took her for a moonlit walk last night after your date, because I’m going to hear that and think ‘what the fuck is this bitch’s problem’, when really, you’re leaving off the part where you ran over some poor old lady with your car, left her to die in the middle of the street, and then ditched your vehicle because it was evidence. Making someone an accessory to murder is a valid reason to hate you.”

“I actually think Brooke might’ve preferred that to what really happened.”

“Ha-ha,” Tessa dryly replies. “Spill it. What did you do?”

I blankly stare at my comforter. “Took her camping when she expressed a strong aversion for it. I thought maybe I could get her to like it if she just focused on being with me, and not where she was or what we were doing. Last night I saw how anxious she was out there. I should’ve taken her home then.”

I might still have a bloody shot with her if I had.

Exhaling a worried breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She was trying to like it. Christ, she was beautiful out there, Tessa. So determined. Then today I pulled a tick off her leg and she broke down crying. I felt terrible. I still feel terrible. It was fucking awful seeing her upset like that and knowing I was the reason for it. She asked me to get her out of there and I did. When we got back, she barely said anything before she left to go home. It felt like a brush-off.”

“Maybe she was just freaking out and needed a moment to deal with it. Did she actually tell you to go fuck yourself and never speak to her again?”

“Not in so many words,” I answer.

“Well, I would’ve,” Tessa chuckles. “Fucking gross. A tick? That’s just cold.”

I feel the muscles in my shoulders tense. “I didn’t fucking put it there. I got the bloody thing off, didn’t I?”

“Would you relax? I think you’re overreacting.”

Overreacting? Am I? I don’t see Brooke here with me, so I think I’m reacting just fine.

Tessa breathes a laugh. “Mason. Mason. Mason.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you love her? It kind of sounds like you do.”

I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly.

When did my obsession with Brooke become something more?

I have no doubt of my feelings for her. I’ve never been more certain of anything before, but I can’t pinpoint the exact moment it all changed for me.

Would it even do me any good to admit it to someone now? If it’s over, what’s the point?

“I . . .” My response is interrupted by another call coming through the line. I pull the phone away to look at the screen, and my spine straightens as I blink the caller’s name into focus.

I nearly drop the damn device before I press it against my ear again.

“Tessa, it’s Brooke. I need to take this.”

“Ah, see? All that worrying for nothing. Let me know how it goes.”

“Yeah,” I reply thickly, my bloody voice bound by my uneasiness again. I clear my throat before clicking over to answer the call. “Brooke?”

“Hey.” Her voice is light and lifted. She sounds like she’s smiling.

Why would she be smiling?

“What are you doing?”

I look down at my towel, then around the darkened room. “Nothing. Just took a shower.”

“God, I took so many showers. I used an entire thing of body wash,” she giggles.

I run a hand through my wet hair.

She’s giggling? Why the fuck is she giggling? Is she happy right now?

“So, Mason . . .”

“Yeah?”

“That goodbye sucked. It was awkward and really fucking weird. I didn’t like it. You need to do better than that, okay?” A slurping sound comes through the phone. “Mm. Are you coming over?”

“What?”

“Billy is making his famous martinis. They’re so, so good. I’m on my third one so I can’t drive. You have to come to me.”

I sit down on the edge of my bed. Am I dreaming this phone call?

“You want me to come over there? After what happened today?” I ask hesitantly.

I almost don’t want to shatter this illusion. This Brooke still likes me.

“Yes, hello! You wanted me for the whole weekend, right? I mean, that was the original plan before that bloody tick showed up and ruined everything. It’s Saturday night. Still the weekend, mate,” she laughs again. “You’re so funny, Mason.”

“I am?”

“Yes. So sweet and funny. A little strange, yeah? I like it.” She pauses, humming a bit. “Now hurry up and get over here. I want to kiss you before I’m drunk and don’t remember it.”

The call disconnects. I bring the phone away from my ear and stare at it.

What just happened?

Brooke isn’t upset anymore. She isn’t mad or acting like we’re through and she’s done.

She wants me to come over. She hated that goodbye as much as I did.

She wants to kiss me before she’s drunk.

Too fucking right. I want that. I hated that bloody goodbye. I didn’t even want one.

I dart off the bed and attack my dresser like a man possessed. Clothes are flying. I pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and stumble into my runners, grabbing my keys and my phone.

My mood is jubilant. There’s that runner’s high I was hoping for earlier. Only this is better. Leave it to Brooke to shock me back into my usual pleasant self. She can’t do or be anything predictable. It doesn’t suit her.

Traffic is mild and I arrive at her building within a few minutes, pulling underneath and parking in the garage.

I take the elevators to her floor. I knock twice and step back, scowling at the water I collect off my neck. I didn’t even bother running a towel over my hair before leaving. My collar is damp.

The door swings open and Brooke’s bright face appears. She squeals and lunges at me, wrapping her hands around my neck and tugging me inside.