Page 8

Chapter Eight

Lainey

By the time my surprise colon cleanse is over, I’m tired and thirsty. I always am.

From the toilet, I posted in my online IBS support group about what happened, dubbing it “the fon-doo-doo incident.” Several people told me they’ve been there.

Only people who have IBS really understand how awful it can be.

The memes and funny stories in the group always make me feel better when I’m down about it.

I like a meme in the group about spraying air freshener post-dump and making your bathroom smell like shitrus, then close out the app. I’ve already washed my hands and left the bathroom—I was just lying down for a few minutes before heading back downstairs for some water.

“Hey.” Bash stands up from the couch. “You okay?”

I’m not used to someone being so concerned about me. When I tell Shane I’m having a flare, he leaves me alone and waits for me to get in touch with him when I’m myself again. Sometimes that takes days, but usually it’s just a few hours.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I knew better than to eat that fondue.”

“Who can resist a cheese fountain, though?”

I chuckle. “Clearly not me. Suki and her friends must think I’m insane. I made up an excuse about turning things off at the lab.”

“They won’t think anything of it. There’s some stuff in the kitchen for you.”

I furrow my brow because I wasn’t expecting any deliveries. When I get into the kitchen, my eyes widen as I take in the things lined up on the island.

There’s a case of Sprite, a case of 7-Up, a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, a box of Imodium tablets, bath salts, bubble bath, a six-pack of Gatorade, a bunch of bananas, a bag of brown rice and a container of probiotic supplements.

When I turn around, Bash is leaning against the kitchen counter, giving me a sheepish look.

“I Googled what might be good for you and Door Dashed it. It’s okay if you don’t want any of it.”

I open my mouth to say something but close it again. I can’t believe how open he’s being about my condition. Most people find it uncomfortable to talk about uncontrollable shitting.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say softly.

“I did it because I wanted to. I read that lean proteins and rice are a good meal after a flare, so I’ll whip that up whenever you get hungry.”

Tears fill my eyes and I turn away, hoping he didn’t see.

I spent all day replaying him calling me perfect in all the ways that matter .

And the way he described what love should be.

..something that takes your breath away, takes over your life and makes you question your sanity— is going to live rent-free in my head forever.

I should still be pissed at him over the way he treated Shane, but instead, I’m swooning like a lovesick teenager. He’s making me feel like my IBS isn’t shameful. He looked up ways to help me.

“That’s really nice, thank you.” I open the case of 7-Up, not letting myself look at him. “I think I’ll just have some of this for now.”

The song his dryer plays when its cycle is finished sounds out from the laundry room, which is off the kitchen. He leaves to get the clothes, and I use the opportunity to get myself together.

Shane doesn’t want to talk about my IBS because I’ve never talked to him about it. He leaves me alone because that’s what I asked for. I should appreciate it. I do appreciate it. But it’s hard not to compare him ignoring me when I have a flare to the way Bash is treating me now.

There’s no reason to compare them, though.

I knew who Bash was when I made a play for him seven years ago, and he turned me down.

I started dating Shane because I became a realist. He’s not perfect, but that’s okay.

He looks at me and sees a woman, and Bash looks at me and sees his best friend’s kid sister.

Bash carries a small pile of laundry into the kitchen and sets it on the table.

“We can watch a movie if you want,” he says as he starts folding clothes.

I do a double take when I see the women’s black satin underwear on top of the pile. My underwear.

“You’re doing my laundry.” It comes out as an accusation.

“Yeah. Go pick out a movie.”

He shakes one of my T-shirts and takes his time folding it carefully. It’s weird to see him doing it, but I’m too worn out to argue with him. My laundry is done, and I’m just going to take the win.

I sit down on the leather sectional, Bruce jumping up beside me. He gets comfy while I turn on the TV and select Netflix.

His profile icon is Dwight from The Office , one of my favorite shows. I’m about to call into the kitchen and compliment him, but...

My heart sinks as I scan through Bash’s recently watched shows and recommendations. The Bachelor . Bridgerton . The Crown . Outlander .

He has a girlfriend. There’s no way he watched these shows. When he’s home for holidays and visiting my parents’ house, he and Eric only watch ESPN and whatever football games are on.

Is his girlfriend not here right now because I’m here? Guilt washes over me as I imagine Bash telling his girlfriend she can’t Netflix and chill while he has a houseguest.

I’m cockblocking him. And also her.

“Hey.” He sits down beside me, on the opposite side of Bruce. “See anything that looks good?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He looks taken aback. “No, why?”

I tilt my head, giving him a look. “Don’t bullshit me. You know I’m over my childhood infatuation with you. It’s totally fine if you have a girlfriend, and you don’t need to tell her she can’t come over because of me. I have earplugs.”

His brows shoot up in amusement. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m not bullshitting you.”

I frown. “Oh. Recent breakup?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not a relationship guy. Unless Bruce counts.”

Hearing his name, Bruce jumps down from the couch and goes over to Bash, putting his front paws in Bash’s lap. His tail swishes eagerly.

“Yeah, you’re my one and only relationship, Brucey,” Bash croons, cupping his dog’s face.

I look from Bash to the TV screen and then back to Bash again. “What’s up with your Netflix profile, then?”

He looks at the TV and shrugs. “I like shows that relax me.”

My lips part and a laugh slips out. “ Bridgerton ? You like Bridgerton ?”

“I’m team Kanthony. Have you watched it?”

I thought I knew Bash well. But this doesn’t just surprise me; it shocks the hell out of me.

“It’s one of my favorite shows. The spinoff, Queen Charlotte , is perfection.”

“You want to watch it?”

I glance from the TV screen to him, grinning. “It looks like you have The Bachelor in progress.”

“You watch it?”

“No. But I can ask you questions and make you miss most of it because you’re so busy explaining things to me.”

“Let’s do it.”

Shane refuses to watch shows with me because I ask too many questions. Which is okay because we have very different tastes in shows. He likes action movies and I like quirky comedies and reality shows.

Bruce gets on the couch, half on Bash’s lap and half on mine. Bash reaches behind my head and gets a blanket from the back of the couch, spreading it out to cover Bruce up.

“Has Shane called you since he left Saturday?”

I’m immediately defensive, but I try not to show it. “Yeah, we’ve talked. He’s okay, but for the rest of the summer, he wants me to come to Columbus on weekends instead of him coming here.”

Bash shakes his head. “And how do you feel about that?”

“I get it. He doesn’t feel welcome here.”

My heart is beating faster than its baseline. I’m not used to being so close to Bash. He took a shower while I was sequestered in my room’s bathroom. His dark hair is still damp, curling at the ends. And his lashes are just unfair. Dark and thick, framing caramel eyes with gold flecks.

“Tell me something, Lane.” He rubs a hand over Bruce’s back, his gaze intense as he looks into my eyes. “And be honest. I promise I won’t say a word after if you’ll just answer one question for me.”

I should have a quip cued up, but all I can do is nod. I run my thumb over my engagement ring, feeling guilty over the warmth I feel from being so close to Bash.

“Does Shane make you feel like the most beautiful, sexy woman in the world? Like no one else could ever compare to you. Like he’s all in, out of his mind, head over heels in love with you.”

I swallow and look down. “Bash, it’s not like that in real life.”

He puts a fingertip beneath my chin and tips it up until our eyes meet. His touch makes my skin heat and my pulse pound. “It can be, though. It should. You’re settling.”

“Maybe,” I concede. “But some of us don’t want fireworks and passion. We don’t want to land the hottest person we can and worry constantly about whether we’ll be able to keep them as we get older. We just want stability and companionship.”

He drops his hand. “Stability and companionship? That’s like a commercial for a nursing home.

Fuck that. You’re a beautiful, brilliant twenty-four-year-old.

You deserve nothing less than fireworks and passion.

I’ve got married friends who have it all—they’re best friends who can’t keep their hands off each other. ”

I tuck a loose section of hair behind my ear, his words reaching me in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

“Just tell me you’ll think about it,” he says. “That’s all I ask. This is me being completely serious. It’s not really about Shane; it’s about you and what you deserve.”

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

He sighs heavily, looking aggrieved. “If you want me to apologize to Shane, I will. You shouldn’t have to drive to Columbus every weekend all summer in a car with no air conditioning.”

I smile, surprised he humbled himself enough to even offer. “It won’t be every weekend. He has to work a lot of weekends in the summer and he has video game tournaments sometimes.”

Pursing his lips, he slides Bruce off his lap and gets up from the couch. “Just a sec.”

He walks over to a chair with a decorative pillow on it. Adjusting the pillow so it’s flat on the chair’s seat, he then bends with one hand on the arm of the chair.

His arm muscles cord as he drives his fist into the pillow—hard—about half a dozen times. I’m surprised the pillow doesn’t burst open. Bruce watches him, unfazed.

What the hell is he doing?

He stands upright, takes a deep breath in and out, and comes back to the couch. Standing with his hands on his hips, he says, “Sorry, I just had to get that energy out.”

“Okay, but...why?”

“You. Are. Settling.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “And as someone who cares about you, it’s painful to watch. I don’t want you to end up miserable.”

“Bash—”

“If you were my girl, and we were two and a half hours apart in the summer, you can bet your ass I’d be on your doorstep by seven thirty every Friday night, and I’d be getting up before sunrise to get back to work on Monday morning so I could have an extra night with you.

If he wanted to, he would, Lane. And Shane doesn’t want to. ”

If you were my girl . I can’t even take a full breath as I replay his words in my head. Why? Why would Bash say something so thoughtless and cruel to me? He doesn’t mean it. He’s tearing down Shane, an average, everyday man, and making himself out to be the ten I could have if I only dumped Shane.

It’s not realistic. And it hurts. It really, truly hurts my heart that he thinks it’s okay to toy with my feelings this way. He wants me to dump Shane and be alone just so he can feel like he is right.

I clear my throat, pulling out my ponytail holder so I can hide my face behind a curtain of hair. Bruce jumps down from my lap as I start to stand up.

“You know what, my stomach’s bothering me again.”

Bash sighs heavily. “Lane, don’t go.”

“I need to. I think I just need to rest.”

I rush up to my room, relieved when I finally close the door behind me. Just in case he comes up to see if I was lying, I go into the bathroom and close and lock the door.

I’ll take a bath. Maybe it’ll relax me a little bit. I’m not pissed off this time. I’m just so hurt I can hardly keep from crumpling up on the floor to cry my eyes out.

This is where I have to live for the summer, but it doesn’t mean I have to spend much time here. I’m going to try just sleeping here and avoiding Bash because anytime we talk for more than five minutes, we end up arguing.

I’ve already had enough stress to last the entire summer.