Page 69 of Piggy

I nod. That’s true. Women sometimes wander into his room and get enamored by his figurines and swords on the wall.

We sit there for a half-hour. No Brax.

“Grayson still not back, huh?” Meghan’s voice floats behind me.

I glance over my shoulder, then shake my head.

She smirks.

“Did you tell him you love him?”

I pause. Swallow. “...he knows I do.”

“Mistake.”

The word is like a knockout punch. I frown, jaw clenching. She says it like she knows him better than I do. Like she’s been here before. Like he left her ruined, too.

Probably did.

I turn back toward the driveway, ignoring the jealousy crawling at my heart.

“I’m sorry,” she adds. “But he’ll never give you what you want.”

As if I need the reminder!

Then, Brax’s truck rumbles down the circle drive.

Thank God.

I bolt to my feet, heart pounding. I don’t say goodbye. Don’t even look back.

Let Meghan watch me walk away. She can keep her wisdom.

Brax scolds me as he thumps the steering wheel. “Stop obsessing over my friends!”

I nod solemnly, promising without hesitation that I’ll never do that again.

The weeks drag like a slow death.

At night, I find myself staring into Grayson’s empty bedroom, hoping I’ll catch a glimpse of him. Shirtless in bed. Dabbing cologne on his neck by the window. Sitting on the edge of the mattress with his hand outstretched, that sweet look in his eyes, the one that made me rush to his lap.

But there’s never anyone there. Just shadows. Just memories.

So, I bury myself in work, picking up every shift I can. Anything to stay distracted. Once, I caved and drove to his job on the docks. They told me he quit. Weeks ago.

I even went to Meghan’s.

Freaking pathetic... But she said he never came back. Even assured me he wouldn’t return.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe true love doesn’t exist.

Therefore, every day, I tell myself to move on. And every day, I fail. Because I still ache for him. His mouth on my neck, his arms around me at night, his smile at lunch, my car mysteriously full every Monday, the scent of his cologne lingering on my clothes...

That deep, sinful voice whispering things he meant only for me.

Months pass.

Months.