❝You think we're going to live happily ever after? Newsflash: I'm not a fucking princess, you're no prince and this fucked up thing between us is not a fairy tale.❞
Ian raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. ❝Fairy tales can be...
The prince isn't always charming and the princess isn't always a virgin. —Alison Bliss, Playing With Fire (Tangled in Texas, #2)
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...Why the hell is my phone vibrating at 2:00AM?
I press the pause button on my laptop to stop listening to Kanye West's album before removing my headphones. I quickly grab my phone vibrating at the left side of my hip and look down at the caller I.D.
Reyna.
I clear my throat and try to stop my heart from beating out of control because why the hell not? She's calling me. She's freaking calling me at a time when I'm meant to be sleeping and I don't know what to do oh my fuck—
My finger presses the accept call button before I can properly think through my approach.
Biting back a scream, I hesitate before pressing the phone to my ear. There's silence on the other side for a moment and I shut my eyes as I wait for her to speak. I also add a silent wish to the stars above that she isn't drunk out of her mind because if she is, this conversation really won't go well.
Finally, she does. "I couldn't sleep."
Okay, cool. She isn't drunk. Just sleepy. And possibly a bit depressed.
"...Me too," I say, clearing my throat to get rid of the husky undertone in my voice. "Um. How are you?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?" She laughs but it lacks humor. "Because I'm not in the mood to answer it."
I nod with a gulp. Really Scarlett? Standard question much? "I'm sorry for..."
I can't complete the sentence. I'm sorry for what, exactly? I'm sorry for your witch of a mom passing away? For not attending the funeral I was obviously uninvited to and for good reason? For not calling you more and actually trying to get to the real bottom of things?
...The last one shouldn't even be on the list of things I should be sorry about but yeah, it's still something I could say just for the sake of completing the apology.
"I'm sorry for everything," I finally utter, summarizing my apology. "Not being there for you, being crappier than ever... everything."
She sighs and I can practically see the gears turning in her head. "Not your fault. Pretty sure you were just as hurt as I was."
"I wasn't," I quickly defend myself and wince at my tone. Too harsh, too quick to defend.
She snorts. "Yeah, sure. Says your ten voicemails, thirty texts and sixty nine missed calls."
I ignore the way my cheeks suddenly feel hot. "I was bored. There wasn't anything to do."
"You're done with your bucket list already?" She asks and I cringe at the fact that we're talking about me again. Like she doesn't already have enough grief.
