Page 18 of Ready or Not (The Nape #I)
“You’re missing the point. It’s not about what you meant; it’s about what she saw.
Women are hyper-aware of shit like that.
You could’ve put her clothes back in a drawer with yours, or just left them where they were—but noooooo, you folded ’em real neat and set them off to the side.
That’s like saying Here’s your stuff all prepped for you to grab whenever you’re ready to dip cause I don’t want you here .
Like a concierge at a hotel checking her out without asking if she wanted to extend her stay. ”
My fingers raked through my hair as I sat there, stunned.
So I wasn’t the problem, but if what Chance was saying was true, then I might’ve accidentally become the problem.
Mierda.
“Women notice everything,” he continued.
“They connect dots we can’t even see because we don’t think like them.
To you, it’s just folded clothes on a chair; to her, it’s a farewell note in origami.
I did that to my girl one time and got my ass cussed out ‘cause she thought I was trying to put her on a timer.”
I buried my face in my hands, groaning into my palms.
“I just… I wanted her to be comfortable.”
“Yeah… comfortable leaving,” he snorted. “How the hell do you have two sisters and you?—”
“Don’t,” I looked back up, my eyes turning into slits. “Cali’s eighteen and Ana’s in middle school. Both of them haven’t had a one night stand to tell me what the fucking etiquette is for post-rainstorm hookups.”
He shook his head in amusement. "Doesn't take a genius. If you leave anything open to interpretation, girls like Solène will fill in the blanks with their own wild conclusions.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Don’t need to rub in my mistake. I already know I screwed up."
"First off,” he smirked like he’d just scored the game-winning point. “I’m not done with you so buckle the fuck up.”
“You’re seriously enjoying this too fucking much..”
“Yeah, I am ‘cause if it was me? I wouldn’t have folded her clothes like I work retail. That’s mistake number one.
You wanna make someone feel at home? You don’t itemize their existence into a neat little square of folded fabric and leave it in the ‘guest zone.’ You blur the lines, Des.
Toss her stuff somewhere casual. Hell, let it mingle with yours—make it look like you’re already living in a world where she belongs. ”
I scoffed, but his words planted seeds of doubt and realization that sprouted uncomfortably fast. The more I replayed the scene in my head, the more I saw how badly I fucked up.
“Alright, alright?—”
"I ain’t done negro." he went on without missing a beat, "Mistake number two, you fucked up by not leaving a note. You just dipped without saying anything and expected her to magically know you were coming right back?”
“I was gone for like eight minutes…”
“And those eight minutes was all she needed to rewrite the story in her head.”
“That’s insane,” I murmured, though the certainty in my voice had started to unravel. “She would’ve known—she should’ve known—that I wasn’t trying to get rid of her. I mean... it was obvious we had something good last night.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Damn it,” I finally relented. “Shit… Okay, so what do I do now? She’s gone. Just like that. I don’t have her number.”
He echoed with a raised brow, tilting his head as if the answer was so obvious it shouldn’t even need to be asked. “Go after her.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”
“Talk to Tone instead of talking to me.”
“I tried, but he’s not answering.”
“Then figure it out, bro. I can’t help you with that one."
I sighed, glancing around my apartment like the answer might be hiding in one of the corners.
"Man, this is ridiculous," I muttered under my breath, but even as I said it, I found myself standing up. My keys were on the counter where I’d tossed them earlier; I grabbed them without thinking.
"I don't even know how to find her," I snapped, though my feet were moving toward the door anyway. I froze for a second, hand on the knob.
Where the hell was I even planning to go?
Go to Brooklyn on a hunt for her?
What if… she didn’t want me to find her? What if leaving like that was her way of closing the door, of making sure no further steps were taken?
I hesitated, keys clinking softly in my hand.
The weight of uncertainty pressed down on me, grinding against the hope I didn’t want to admit I still had.
All of this felt so raw, so messy, and I hated how much it mattered to me.
Maybe I should make peace with the fact that she chose to leave.
“Des,” Chance’s voice carried through the phone, dragging me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“Don’t stand there overthinking. You’ve got two options: sit your ass back down and let this shit eat you alive until you regret it for the rest of your life, or you get out there and try to fix it, regardless of what happens. Either way, bro, make a damn decision.”
The line went quiet for a second as I stood frozen in place, my hand tightening around the doorknob. My chest felt tight, split between the fear of rejection and the hope that maybe—just maybe—I could fix this before it was too late.
Chance let out an exaggerated sigh. “Look, Des… I know you’re scared. I get it, man. But fear don’t mean shit if you let it win every time. You want her? Prove it. You already said she ain’t got a clue how much you care. Now’s your shot to show her.”
“And what if she doesn’t want me to?” I muttered, my throat tightening as the words came out.
“Then at least you’ll know.”