Definitely, Maybe, Sometimes. | ✔️ COMPLETED

Chapter Thirty-Two

I wake the next morning unsurprised that Jordan hasn't sought me out or responded to any of my messages.

Something like steel grit takes ahold of me. I can't back out. This needs to be sorted and it needs to be sorted today. He can't just ignore me because he's in a bad mood, he can't run away from me when I live down the hall from him.

It's unfair, maybe even cruel.

I get ready slowly and then head to his room. I'm so nervous I feel sick. It's not lost on me that whatever words that come from my mouth could cause it all to end. What if he's not ready to hear it? What if he breaks up with me because of it?

Then at least you were brave, a little voice reassures me.

I stand outside his door and take a steadying breath, shaking out my shaky hands. Sheer determination spreads through me. I knock. There is no answer. I knock again, there is no answer. I knock harder, repeatedly.

I keep knocking until Jordan swings the door open, looking at me blearily eyed, clearly having just woken up.

He registers it's me and his face contorts into pure rage. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He spits. "Fuck off."

He goes to slam the door in my face, but my foot whips out faster than my brain can catch up. I wedge it into the gap, he pulls it back and slams it into my foot but I won't be moved.

"What the hell is going on?"

Jordan laughs, he actually laughs. "How fucking dare you," he hisses. "How dare you ask me that! You manipulative little bitch."

I'm so shocked, so bewildered, that I can't even be offended. This makes no sense. No sense at all. As he pulls the door back once more, I slam myself into his room before he can shut it.

My heart is hammering in my chest.

We stare at each other, rage rolling off him in waves.

"Jordan?" I plead, I see his features soften a tiny bit. "Jordan, what is going on?"

"You KNOW what," he throws his arms into the air. "How long has it been going on? This entire time? Since you started working together?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Is he a better shag?" He's spitting feathers. His eyes are bloodshot, black rimmed. " You disgusting SLAG."

"What the hell is going on? What the fuck are you on about?"

"You and Nate! I saw you together!"

"Nate?" I repeat, so confused as to what Nate has to do with this blind, crazy, unthinkable rage. Then suddenly, I realise; he must have seen us last night, in the pub, somehow. And this - this is what his stupid little pea brain jumps to? That I'm cheating on him?

"You've got to be kidding me," I laugh. It's absurd. It's ridiculous. It's insulting. "You honestly think I'm fucking Nate?"

"You tell me," He sneers, turning away.

"Don't be such a pig-headed brat. Do you not know me at all?"

"I SAW you with him." He spins on me, jabbing a finger in my face. "All friendly, hugging him, resting your head on his shoulder. Was it some dare? Did he set you up because of what I did with Claire?"

"I'm friendly with him because he's my friend!" I yell. "I can't believe you're stupid enough to think I would shag your ex-best-mate!"

"I'm not stupid," he sputters. "Because you are shagging him!"