Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
“Well…the pants are mine.”
“Uh huh.” She looks around the kitchen. At the dishes I’ve organized, the fresh flowers I picked from the yard and placed on a vase on the counter. Her eyes bug out when she sees the grocery list I started on the fridge. “Evie, have you moved in with him!?”
“Um, not officially,” I reply, flipping a pancake, pretending it takes more concentration than it does. “I’m just…staying here. For a bit.”
“For a bit,” she repeats, pulling out a chair from the table. Her expression shifts from annoyance to something I can’t quite read. “So walk me through this. Because the last time I saw you, you were freshly deflowered. And now you’re Carol Brady.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. I know you don’t watch good old TV.” She takes a long, disgruntled sip of her coffee. “So spill.”
I do. I tell her about the morning after, about my minor anxiety spiral and how Dawson managed to calm me down. About how he brought me breakfast, my clothes on the dresser, and most importantly, the way he makes me feel safe.
I even tell her about the sex. We’re comfortable with each other like that. Not every detail, but enough. Then I tell her about how he asked me to move in with him and I said I’d think about it but then just never left.
Reese listens, and when I’m done, she’s quiet for a long moment. So long I start to fidget.
“What is it?” I ask, my stomach starting to knot.
“Okay,” she breathes. “Can I be honest with you?”
Those words never precede anything good, and I know that, but this is Reese we’re talking about. So I nod. “Okay.”
She leans forward, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she looks genuinely concerned. No teasing, no sarcasm. Just worry.
“Evie, I get what he’s done for you. He got you out of your apartment, broke through your walls, and that’s all amazing.” She pauses. “But, babe…you went from using Charles six times a day to being completely wrapped up in this man in less than a week. You haven’t even mentioned a design project. You’re wearing his clothes, cooking his meals, cleaning his house, and just waiting for him to come home.”
I’m starting to get defensive. “So?”
“So…doesn’t that sound like going from one addiction to another?” She gestures at me, then in the direction of my apartment. “You were obsessed with a vibrator, now you’re obsessed with a man. It’s the same pattern.”
Her words hit me like a splash of ice water to the face. My hand tightens around the spatula as I stare at her. “That’s not what this is.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because the girl I know is a talented graphic designer who is ambitious about her career, has her own apartment, her own life. I wanted you to find a guy, Evie. Not lose yourself in one.”
I can feel myself starting to tremble. “I haven’t lost myself.”
“No?” she asks. “So when was the last time you opened your laptop?”
I open my mouth to reply but then close it. She’s got a point. “I can’t remember…”
“When was the last time you were anywhere that wasn’t here or his bedroom?”
More silence. Silence that hurts. I hadn’t even thought about it like this.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Evie,” she says softly. “I’m just trying to be your friend. I don’t want you to go from one cage to another. Even if this cage is much more comfortable.”
I want to argue. Tell her she’s completely off base and doesn’t understand what Dawson and I have. But honestly, some of what she says is true. Not all of it. She doesn’t know how incredible I feel when he touches me or how he quiets my anxiety.
But the part about me not working and not leaving the house? Yeah, I can’t argue with that.
“So…what are you saying?” I whisper. “That I should leave him?”
“God, no. I’m saying you should be his girlfriend. Not just his—” She waves her hand. “Whatever this kinky thing is you two have going on.”
I choke on a laugh as tears begin to form in my eyes. “It’s not—”
“It’s totally kinky.” She grins. “I can tell by the way you’re blushing. Look, I’m just trying to make sure Evie is still in there somewhere. My friend who obsesses about font spacing and color palettes.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Oh, she’s still here.”
Reese comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Then maybe let her out of the house once in a while?”
I nod, sniffling. “I will.”
“And maybe—just maybe—finish that logo for the publishing company that was due two days ago?”
“Oh, shit.” My jaw drops. “Oh, shit.”
Reese laughs. “And there she is.”
Once she’s gone, I sit in the kitchen for a long time.
Have I really just swapped one obsession for another?