Page 43 of That Stranded Feeling

ME (8:17 PM)

Yup

Also…

*might* have slept with him.

IZZIE (8:17 PM)

You did WHAT??? With a STRANGER??? Who you let stay in YOUR HOUSE??? You did that? YOU??? *angel emoji*

ME (8:18 PM)

I did. *devil emoji*

He’s great. But also a rich dick. I think. Well, I know he’s rich. Think he’s a dick. But also might not be. It’s hard.

Whatever he is, tomorrow he’ll leave and start to fade into a weird blip of a memory.

If he’s not a rich dick, that would make things worse. I mean, imagine if he really were the brilliant, funny, sexy guy who gives raging sofa orgasms that he led me to believe he was for a hot minute, but then leaves and I never see him again. It would be tragic. And no one needs that kind of tragedy.

So yeah, I’m going to go with rich dick.

Elsa nudges her nose into the part-made, unevenly patterned hat on my lap. She’s bored of being cooped up in my studio.

The phone pings again. And at exactly the same time, there’s a knock on the door. Elsa and I both jump—me because of the knock, Elsa because of me.

My heart races as my stomach drops—it’s the first time that sitting in my studio has ever resembled being on a roller coaster.

I can’t deal with him. I’d rather stay up here till tomorrow morning when he’ll be gone, and then walk downstairs to an empty house and pretend this was all a fever dream that never actually happened.

“Summer?” Despite his voice being muffled by the wooden door, I can hear his hesitancy. Like he’s worried I might yell at him again.

I rub Elsa’s cheeks, bury my face in her ear, and whisper, “If we ignore him, maybe he’ll go away.”

“Could I come in?”

I stay still, as if not moving might make him think I’m not here, even though there’s absolutely nowhere else I could be. Unless I climbed out of the window. Which I’m not ruling out.

“Just for a minute?” The sound of his voice makes me a little warmer. And that’s incredibly annoying.

Why did the one man in the world to have this effect on me, have to get lost outside my house? Life was so much simpler without all this torment, without all the emotions that have been stirred up inside me over the last couple of days. Emotions that were much safer left undisturbed, like sediment at the bottom of my soul.

“Please?” That one word strains my already overstretched heart strings.

I whisper-ask Elsa, “What am I going to do about him?”

“Okay, I’ll leave this here for you.” The “you” cracks slightly.

And that’s it. I’m done for.

The tremor in his voice flings open the door to my heart.

I fold. Cave. Surrender. Wave the white flag. Give in.

I rest my head against Elsa’s and close my eyes in defeat. “Come in, Owen. Come in.”

The door opens with his elbow pushing down on the handle. In one hand he holds a full champagne glass, in the other a plate of goodies.