A Perfect Fit

22

Isabelle

Coming face to face with Oliver again hadn't been part of the plan for tonight, but I refuse to let him ruin my evening.

"I have nothing to say to you," I tell him, my jaw clenching. "Step out of the way."

He doesn't budge. "Izzy, wait. I want to apologize for what I said at the reunion."

"Forget it," I scowl. "I don't care anymore." Without waiting for a reply, I begin to walk off but he grabs hold of my arm to stop me.

"I was drunk and I know that's not an excuse, but I'm sorry for what I said," he exhales. "I tried to text you the next day, but I got a message undelivered notification."

"Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out I have your number blocked," I sarcastically reply whilst shaking off his grip on my arm. "And what are you even doing here?"

"I'm in Washington for a work trip," he responds, and hesitates for a moment, his blue eyes landing on something on my face. "Also...you have lipstick smudged on your face and neck."

I roll my eyes. "Good to know." With that, I step sideways and continue to make my way to the hotel exit.

"You know, Jackson's only with you now because he couldn't have you back in high school," Oliver suddenly calls out from behind. "Once he's bored of you, he'll break up with you."

I stop in my tracks, feeling as though the air has been sucked out of my lungs. The audacity of him...unbelievable.

"You know nothing about him or our relationship," I seethe, turning around to face him. I refuse to let him talk crap about Jackson.

"You know what kind of person Jackson was when we went to school together. How he flirted his way through the entire female student population," Oliver responds. He then takes a few steps closer toward me and casually places his hands inside his pockets. "I'm just looking out for you, Izzy."

"Oh, thank you so much for looking out for me, Oliver," I mock.

He runs another hand through his hair and lets out a sigh. "There's something else that's been on my mind recently...I've been feeling bad about how we ended things."

Oh my god. Seriously?

"It doesn't matter anymore," I say, my jaw tightening. "You've moved on and I've moved on, so just let it go."

He expels another breath. "I just feel bad that I never gave you closure."

That's the last straw for me.

"You want to talk about the break-up?" I can feel the bitterness and anger I'd tried so hard to suppress rising to the surface again, demanding to explode like a dam that's about to burst, and I hate him for that. "Fine. Let's talk about the break-up."

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to look at him in the eye and let out the words I'd buried deep inside my chest.

"You dumped me over text after six years together out of the blue and without any reason," I remind him. "I texted you so many times, I called you so many times, but you never responded. I went to your apartment, and you never answered the door either. I spent days—no, months—thinking about everything that had happened between us, replaying every single interaction, every single conversation we had, trying to work out where we messed up, if I had done anything wrong or whether I wasn't good enough of a girlfriend for you."

I can feel my voice rising and tears threatening to spill in my eyes but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

"Izzy," he says, his voice softening. "You were always good enough for me."