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I gulped some air. “Yep.”
Confusion swept across his face. “Then why the fuck aren't we in bed sleeping?”
I nearly stumbled.
He didn't mean it how it sounded.
Because he absolutely didn't mean it to sound like we should be sleeping together.
“What's your excuse for last night and the night before? I’m going to ask you again, is he bothering you?” he continued.
A red light. Thank God. I bounced in place, enjoying the bit of respite. “Slow your roll. He's not bothering me. He’s aniceguy.” I let that little implication hover in the air between us.
Beck wasn’t convinced. “If he’s such a nice guy, then why are you so bothered?”
“He stopped by tonight and I needed to process it.” I pressed a hand to the stitch in my side.
He grunted. “What did you need to process last night?”
“That's none of your business.”
The light turned green, so we picked up the pace, much to my body's dismay. “Fine. Then let's talk about what you're processing tonight.”
“Pretty sure we established eight years ago that you're not a doctor, and you’re definitely not a therapist, so you'll excuse me if I don't want to have you do a pseudo psych analysis.”
Beck brushed against me, and I tried to pull away but a group of twenty something's were taking up the majority of the sidewalk as they drunkenly stumbled home from the bars, not a car in the world.
“Sometimes we just need a friend to listen,” he said softly.
My heart pounded loudly in my ears, and I wasn't convinced it was all from the exercise. “Are you saying we're friends, Beck Bennet?”
“No but if something's bothering you, I'm here to listen. Preferably not in the middle of the night. Or if it is the middle of night, at least have it be in the comfort of our own homes.”
“I do my best thinking in the middle of the night. So if you can't handle that, then you can leave.”
“Since we're going in the same direction, I think I'll stay.”
Fucking cheeky bastard.
“It didn’t bother me that he showed up.” The words slipped from my lips.
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged, slowing my pace. “I felt nothing. Shouldn’t I feel jealous or regretful? Shouldn’t I feelsomething?”
We jogged in silence for a few beats as I waited for a response.
I shook my head once. “Never mind. I’ll just talk to Faith, she’s good at this.”
“Don’t count me out just yet, I’m trying to understand what you’ve shared. It just takes me a minute,” he said in his defense. “You regret not feeling regret? That sum it up?”
I shrugged. “In a nutshell.”
He tsked. “You can't spend your energy on that.”
Such a man answer.
“Great idea. What didn’t I think of that? Maybe if I just snapped my fingers, all that pesky guilt about not feeling guilty will just vanish into thin air. Woosh.” I snapped my fingers and dramatically waved my hands around.