Page 2

Sadie

P resent Day

Go a whole day without apologizing – from Sadie’s list of things she’s never done

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” I ask, pulling my feet up onto my new extra-cushy rose-colored couch and wrapping my arms loosely around my knees.

Devon’s flawless face tightens in concern. “It’s not too late to back out. I am sure with more time I could find someone far less absurd to take my place.”

“I’m just not sure how to act when he gets here.” I shake my head. “And Cam is not absurd. You can’t say stuff like that about him.”

“Sadie.” She gives me a wry look. “How could the Race Naked guy not be absurd?”

“You’re being unfair,” I say, trying—and failing—not to picture the way he looked in that video. “It’s just a catchphrase. He probably hasn’t done that in forever.”

She arches a dark brow. “One naked race is too many naked races.”

“Dev, it’s not like—” The sound of a car door closing cuts me off. “He’s here. Shit .” My cheeks flush. As if I wasn’t already nervous enough, now we’re sitting here talking about an ancient viral video where he’s naked in public.

“You think the wild motorcycle racer, internet-famous guy is going to make a good roommate?” she presses.

“ Devon ,” I hiss. “He could hear you.”

She rolls her eyes, whispering, “Okay.”

The front door swings open, and Allie walks in, followed by Luke, and then Mr. Race Naked himself. He throws his arms wide and greets me with, “Hey, roomie!” at a volume that would be considered yelling for anyone else, but coming from Cam, it’s just his regular voice. He extends a hand, pulling me off the couch and into a hug in one swift motion.

He’s here. We live together now. This is the exact moment I’ve been nervous about all day—all week, actually. Okay, ever since I agreed to let him move in.

Since I have no idea how to act, I stare awkwardly up at him.

I’m sure I’ve been normal around him before. Why can’t I remember how? What do I say? What if he doesn’t like me? What if I annoy him—

“Luke and I were gonna get started in the garage,” Cam says, beaming a smile that makes me feel welcome in my own home. “That good with you?”

Sure, that’s great. Why not? It’s your garage too. You’re welcome to it—Of course he’s welcome to the garage. He’s welcome to the whole—Shit. I have to say something.

I clear my throat and force a smile. “Garage. Good.”

As soon as the door to the garage slams shut behind him and Luke, Allie turns to me. “Are you okay? You’re being weird.”

I resist the urge to add an apology to my response. “I’m just a little nervous,” I whisper, even though they can’t hear me through the thick door.

“Really?” Allie—who’s never been nervous a day in her life—twists her round features in confusion.

I swallow, wringing my hands. “What if he doesn’t like living with me?”

Devon’s lip curls in offense. “What if you don’t like living with him ? That should be your concern.”

“That’s not fair,” I protest.

“No, she has a point,” Allie says. “But you have nothing to worry about. Cam’s a sweetheart and a huge Sadie fan already.”

“Really?” I ask.

Allie laughs. “He couldn’t stop talking about you in the truck on the way here. He’s really excited about living with you.”

“ Really ?” I repeat, still skeptical.

Devon’s dark blue eyes narrow. “I am offended that you are so surprised by this information.”

“In his mind, you two are besties already,” Allie says, clapping her hands and making an excited squeal that has her brown ponytail bouncing. “You’re gonna be the cutest roomies who ever roomied.”

“That is a bit of a stretch,” Devon says. “He is still the Race Naked guy.”

“You’ve got to drop that,” I roll my eyes. “It’s not like he’s going to strip down and ride laps around the pool on his motorcycle in our backyard.”

Allie tilts her head to the side. “I mean…”

What have I gotten myself into?

She registers the tightening of my face and quickly changes direction, words tumbling out in a rush. “He’s actually doing less of that stuff now. That’s part of why he’s moving out here. He told you, right?”

He did not. “Honestly, we’ve barely talked.”

Devon gives me a side-eye but keeps her comment to herself.

“He wants to clean up his act. He’s been struggling to get on a team since he broke his leg. His reputation—” she winces “—as a fuckboy doesn’t help. But I hate to call him that. It’s just his online persona. Having a solid homebase will help with that.”

Devon’s quiet, but I swear her eyes are asking: Are you sure you want to live with a guy who’s internet-famous for being a fuckboy?

Allie’s mood lightens when Cam and Luke’s laughter floats through the wall from the garage. “Should we go see if they need help?”

“As fun as that sounds,” Devon says dryly, “I have to get back to work.” Turning to me, she leans down to my level and whispers, “You are allowed to be nervous, but I promise you don’t need to be,” before making her way out the front door.

Do you hear that, brain? I do not need to be nervous.

“He’s perfect for you,” Allie says, swinging open the door to the garage.

The house is a ranch-style, shaped like a capital E missing its middle prong. On one end is the garage, then the kitchen, connected to the entry by an archway, followed by the living room. Past that is an L-shaped hallway with my office first, then my bedroom at the corner, my bathroom, and finally, what used to be Devon’s—but is now Cam’s—bathroom and bedroom.

It only takes four of Cam’s massive strides to cross the garage and reach us the moment we open the door. “Excellent timing, loves. Luke was starting to get on my nerves,” he says.

He’s already moved three motorcycles into the garage. Who needs that many?

Luke steps out of the black and yellow box trailer that’s backed into our driveway—his muscular arms stacked full of cardboard boxes. “It’s a lie.”

“What is?” Allie asks.

“Whatever Cam just said.” While the rest of us laugh, Luke only grunts and keeps going.

When I offer to help, Cam responds, “Nope. We just have some gear and a couple more motorcycles to fit in the garage.” He dips his head a little closer to mine. “Very sweet of you to clear it out for me, by the way.”

“I didn’t—I mean, I guess I would have,” I stumble over my words. The urge to apologize pops up, but I avoid it again. “I don’t really have garage stuff.”

“See? You’re perfect for each other,” Allie says, clapping her hands. “She doesn’t have garage stuff, and that’s all you have.”

“Hey, I’ve got furniture too,” he objects. “It’ll be here in a few days.”

My watch vibrates with a reminder. “ Shit. I have to get on a call. I’ll see you guys later. I mean, I’ll see you ,” I point at Cam, “a lot later. Like, not a lot of time later. Just a lot of times later. Multiple later times. I will be seeing you.” Dammit. For a second there, I almost sounded normal. “‘Cause we live together now.” I finish with an awkward smile and bolt inside before he can respond. I’ve got to get myself together.

When I log into the meeting, only two members of my team are already on.

“—so fast to get engaged. I mean, obviously, they’re amazing together, but it’s just so sad for—” my coworker Hanna’s voice cuts off. Wonderful . Never a good feeling when the conversation halts as soon as you enter the room, even if it’s virtual.

“Sadie, how are you? Are you seeing anyone yet?” Hanna asks. It’s a thinly veiled attempt to garner gossip.

She introduced my ex to the girl he cheated on me with. Kelee . Hanna and her boyfriend both knew Jared was cheating, and they still came over to our house, eating meals I cooked, without saying a word about it. For months. I’ve successfully cut every other tie between my ex and me, but I can’t exactly get Hanna fired for being the opposite of a girl’s girl. I wish I’d known she wasn’t a real friend before I helped her get a job on my team in the first place, though.

Fortunately, our manager joins the call, and I’m saved from trying to figure out a clever way to make it seem like I’m seeing someone without lying. I alternate between trying to hear what Cam’s doing in the garage and puzzling over the snippet of conversation I overheard.

It can’t be that. Not so soon. But who else would “so fast to get engaged” be about? Finally, I give in and pull up my ex’s social media.

My stomach drops.

A post from last night shows the woman he cheated on me with in a little white dress, and him in a suit, holding her left hand up to the camera. The caption reads, “One year down. The rest of our lives to go.”

One year down? We broke up six months ago. One year down. Is he serious? Were they already—

Evidently, I’m committed to hurting my own feelings because I keep swiping through the photos. They had dinner at that fucking steak place he loves, then he planned a surprise party at our old house— now their house —with all of my old friends— now their friends .

He didn’t even have the decency to buy her an ugly ring. It’s stunning.

I don’t care. I’m not upset. I shouldn’t care. And I don’t. This is me—not caring.

“Sadie?” my manager’s voice comes through my computer speakers, and I barely hear it over the pounding of my pulse. Wonderful . “Do you have any insight on the timeline?” he asks.

Fucking rushed. Sketchy as hell. Wildly inappropriate.

Since my boss likely isn’t asking about the timeline of my ex’s engagement, I give a canned answer about teamwork and balancing time between projects. It satisfies him enough to move on.

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur, my entire body buzzing with something hot and awful. Not jealousy. Maybe anger? Hurt? Ugh, hurt seems right. I hate that he’s still able to hurt me.

The moment the meeting ends, I click out before anyone can try and talk to me. Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I don’t want to think about him. I am sick of thinking about him, and yet this—

Cam leans on my open office door, a gigantic smile lighting up his entire face. “Allie and Luke just left, and I wanted to see if you—Are you crying?”

“No, I’m sorry.” Dammit, looks like I’ll have to try for not apologizing on another day. “I just—I really do not want to be crying.”

“Got it,” he answers cautiously, nodding his head. He glances around my office, and I realize it’s because he’s never been in here. He lives here now, and I haven’t even shown him around. I should— “ You want to go for a ride?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” I tilt my head. “Where to? Just to drive around?”

“No, a ride ,” he answers with an amused chuckle. When my response is to stare, he adds, “On a motorcycle—with me.”

“Oh,” I answer. The image of his body splayed across the asphalt race track after his crash burns behind my eyes. I’ve tried to forget this part of Cam—the motorcycle racer part. Maybe the most significant part. “I don’t—motorcycles aren’t—” How do I explain this without offending him? “It’s probably not—”

He doesn’t make me finish the thought I’m stumbling over. “How about a margarita?”

“Right now?” I ask, startled by his quick change of plans.

He tracks my movements as a tear rolls down my cheek and I push it away with a fist. “Yeah, right now,” he says.

That meeting I zoned out of was the closest thing to work I’ve accomplished today. My screen has a flashing notification of a chat from my boss. My inbox is full of unread messages, and that doesn’t even begin to touch the project I’m leading. Another notification flashes—a chat from Hanna. The last thing I want to do is work today.

I could cross something off my list.

“I’m in.” I exhale a heavy breath, feeling lighter already. “Give me five minutes.”

“Can’t wait,” he says with enough excitement that I’m tempted to believe him, and then walks away down the hall.

Now, I just have to tell my manager I need the rest of the day off. I just have to pretend to be sick. Should be easy. I’ll just say—what do I say? He just saw me on the video call, so he knows I’m not sick. Although, not all illness is visible. I could tell him I got food poisoning. Seems too convenient . Or, I could say I have a migraine. But I’ve never had one before. Would he remember that about me and know I’m lying?

I type out a message.

Hey, sorry if I seemed off during our meeting. My head is killing me, and I was wondering if I could…

No, too passive. I delete it and start over.

I’m not feeling well. I need to take the rest of the day off.

Hopefully, that’ll be enough. I take a deep breath and press send. His response is immediate.

Get some rest! We’ll catch up tomorrow.

That’s it? Why haven’t I been doing this all along? I never use all my sick time.

I grab my Try It journal off my desk and search for the correct entry. The little checkered book holds a list I started this past summer. I wasn’t expecting to rebuild my life this year and didn’t know where to start. So, I’ve been compiling a list of things I’ve never done but want to try. Even though I think I’m well past a hundred entries at this point, crossing things off has yet to lose its shine.

Fake being sick to get out of work.

After changing into my comfiest leggings and a cropped sunflower yellow hoodie, I meet Cam in the kitchen, where he already has the blender going. I snag the tequila from the counter, pour myself a shot, and throw it back.

His laughter carries over the blender’s whir until he presses the button to stop it.

“I’m not usually a mid-day drinker, but today is,” I search for the right phrase and land on, “ Especially fucked .”

“Oof, sorry.” His smile drops into a grimace.

“Oh, my word.” I rush to apologize, making sure his green-blue gaze meets mine. “It’s not because of you. That probably sounded horrible. I’m sorry. The special fuckery has nothing to do with you. I’m really happy about this.” I wave my hand between us, indicating this .

He smiles—over it immediately—and pours us each a margarita. Holding his glass up to mine, he says, “To those later times you mentioned.”

I snort, tapping my glass to his. “Later times.”

We’ve just barely settled onto the couch with our drinks when my phone buzzes with a notification.

Hanna: Hey, heard you’re sick. I hope you’re okay.

Before I figured everything out, I liked her. But she acted like my friend all that time, and she knew . It’s a bit of insult to injury that she’s reaching out right now, trying to act like she cares about me.

“So,” Cam’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. He’s leaning back on the couch with one leanly muscled, tattooed arm folded behind his head, watching me. “Are we gonna talk about what’s happening on your phone that’s making you look so murder-y?”

“Murder-y?” I ask.

“I’m surprised your eyes didn’t burn a hole in that thing.” He points to my phone. “Something’s got you fucked up. You want to talk about it?”

I should talk to someone about this—should call one of my friends.

Allie would curse Jared, his new fiancée Kelee, Hanna, and everyone they’ve ever known. Devon would remind me that he was never good enough for me in the first place and not to waste my tears. And our friend Bea would probably make a point to validate each one of my feelings. I have no idea what will make me feel better, but none of that sounds right.

My eyes focus on my new roommate. He’s my friend, too.

“It’s kind of shallow, the thing I’m upset about,” I say.

“I love shallow,” he says, sipping his margarita.

Here goes nothing. “You know how I was in a relationship for a really long time?” I ask.

Cam nods, blue-green eyes focused heavily on me.

“And I finally left because he cheated on me?”

His brows shoot up. “Didn’t realize that part. What an idiot.”

“ Yeah , what an idiot,” I agree, realizing that might be the only insult I haven’t mentally applied to my ex yet. “That idiot just got engaged to the girl he was cheating on me with.” I hide my face by taking a big sip of my drink as soon as the words are out.

Cam’s jaw drops, and he shifts forward from his laid-back position. “That motherfucker,” he says, with a rare edge to his voice.

“It’s fine,” I sigh. “We’re not together anymore, so he has every right—”

“It’s not fine,” Cam interjects, that same severity weighing down his tone.

“We were together for nine years, and you know what he’d tell me when I brought up marriage?” I ask.

Cam raises his eyebrows, inviting me to answer my own question.

“He said he never wanted to get married. He’d tell me that we lived together, and he took care of me.” I roll my eyes. “And that should have been enough for me. ‘Marriage is just a piece of paper, and it doesn’t mean anything.’” The full-body hot-angry-hurt feeling from before returns, tears welling in my eyes. “I hate that I hate this. Does that make any sense?”

Cam graciously ignores my crying. “It makes complete sense.”

“Being upset about this makes me look jealous, but I swear I’m not,” I sniff, wiping my tears with a fist. “I realize I’m sitting here drinking and totally not crying because he got engaged, but I am over him—romantically, anyway. I’m still mourning the loss of the years I spent with him.” My phone vibrates again, but I don’t bother checking it this time. “I think I need another shot before I admit this next part.”

Cam’s quick to pour me one and one for himself, too. “Bottoms up, love,” he says, holding his glass up.

“Bottoms up,” I say as we swallow the tequila down.

“Alright, hit me with it,” he says, striking a perfect balance between taking me seriously and lightening the mood.

“I don’t want him back. At all. I’m honestly so happy I never have to see him again, but I’m not a big enough person to wish him well.” I scan my new roommate’s face for judgment, but find none. “ I’ve been working through nine years of history, feelings, and betrayal, and the breakup seems like nothing to him. He started moving on before I even realized moving on was an option .” I release a heavy breath and admit, “I’m embarrassed.” Checking him again for judgment, I only find rapt interest. “I hate that he’s living in the house that used to be ours with his shiny new girlfriend— ugh, fiancée , and I haven’t even been on a date since we broke up. It’s been almost an entire decade since I kissed someone who wasn’t him. He’s winning the breakup, and I know I shouldn’t—”

Cam holds a flat hand up between us, halting my rant. “Nope.” He shakes his head for emphasis. “You lost me there. He can’t be winning if he no longer has you.”

I laugh, but Cam doesn’t. He meant that? “You’re very sweet,” I say. “But I am the most single person in California, and he replaced me with a younger, better model.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” he stops me again. “She may be younger, but there’s no way she’s better.”

My laugh is pained. “She’s twenty-two.”

“Younger, not better.” He shrugs, resting his arm behind his head again.

My eyes narrow. “I am trying to feel sorry for myself. Could you quit encouraging me, please?”

He shakes his head. “I will drink with you about this all day and all night. I’ll order takeout for lunch, dinner, and dessert. I’ll listen to every word you say, but I’ll also stand up for you. You’re too important to feel sorry for yourself over someone dumb enough to fumble you.”

I glare at him, but it holds no menace. “That sounded an awful lot like encouragement, Cameron.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs. “I’ll do my best to be less encouraging. Tell me what you would have to do to win the breakup.”

“Trying to win the breakup is petty,” I mutter.

He smirks. “I can get behind petty.”

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment before I land on an answer. “I want him to be jealous . I want him to wonder about me . I want him to replay our relationship at night when he’s trying to sleep and wonder what part of me was there the whole time that he just didn’t see.”

Cam’s response is a nonchalant, “Okay.”

“Okay, what?” I ask.

“Okay,” he says again, shrugging. “Let’s make him jealous.”