Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

38. Cotton Cocoon

38

Cotton Cocoon

I unlocked my phone to distract myself with the glow. All the icons blurred through unshed tears. At least model training had taught me how to hold off blinking for release. I forced my tone to stay neutral. “We didn’t get to eat dinner. Would you like me to order something before you go?”

I wasn’t about to cook for the guy who rejected me.

Zack scooted to the edge of the couch. “Wait, that’s it? Can’t we be friends? Keep working on this?”

“I’m not interested in another fake relationship," I said, my voice hoarse.

These last few weeks had been far too real for me. The resulting heartache stung more than my feet after New Year’s Eve. Now, pretending it didn’t matter felt cheap. I wanted something real. I needed to heal from the brutal honesty that we could never be more than a fling. His first love would always be his family.

He swallowed. “Did you want to break off our arrangement now, then?”

“I guess so. I’m not going to post with someone who finds me morally reprehensible.” I placed my phone face-down in my lap and looked away.

"Nic, you're still a great person," he said, scooting closer.

Right, he just hated a huge part of my life, not me by extension. Not that he cared enough to look past it. Was I being dramatic? It didn’t feel like it.

I stood and wiped the underside of my eyes. “As for your side of the bargain, you can tell your family we broke up or that I’m busy with gigs so I won’t be around for a bit.” It all depended on how much he wanted to lie to them.

They would get over it as soon as he came home with a real girlfriend. A nice girl. Not some ‘warrior princess’ in a stud jacket who sold feet pics.

Zack stood, his expression hard and unreadable. He was a box man again. A sturdy quarterback with resting bitchface. No one got into his head.

I flicked the edge of my phone case. “Are you going to tell them about this?”

“No,” he said.

Good. Kind of good. We were both kinda liars by omission. As long as no one got hurt…well, no one else, this wasn’t a total loss, I guessed.

“Okay. I’ll see you at work. Bye, Zack.” I wavered, almost leaning in on impulse.

We didn’t kiss anymore.

“Bye, Nic.” He took one step forward and opened his arms to me.

I couldn’t resist one more excuse to hold him. We hugged with every inch of our bodies touching. His muscles flexed with a long squeeze and crushed my carefully constructed facade.

Tears leaked down my cheeks. He was so warm. So strong.

I bit my lip and trembled, hanging onto this moment. In his arms, I was loved. I thought I was loved.

Don’t fall apart, I warned myself, and sniffled. I was independent. I could handle this. I didn’t need him, even if he had become my new best friend. Even if I did love him.

My eyes burned. I rubbed my face on his cotton shirt. Old Spice wafted past my budding nose drip.

“It’s okay,” he rasped. “You’re good, Nic.”

I strangled off a low whimper. No, I wasn’t. If he really thought I was good, why couldn’t he be with me?

He kissed my face from my forehead to my cheek, following my contours. Every press of his lips shot heat into my veins. We had chemistry. It just wasn’t meant to be.

Ugh. This was awful. My nose and cheeks stung with heat. I pulled away and wiped my face.

I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t keep this in.

He reached for me again. “Nic…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll feel better once I’ve eaten something.” I waved him off and grabbed a tissue. Hopefully, my mascara was waterproof. I didn’t want his last image of me to be of some zombie racoon. “You should leave.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

"I'll get out of here, then. Take care, Nic," he said.

The second he trudged into the hall, I closed the door. He’d started to turn, but I couldn’t let him see me like this. A mess. Again. I switched the lock, then pulled my shirt over my nose to muffle my sobs.

The quarterback didn’t end up with a girl like me. I don’t know what I was thinking.

I peeled off my layers, changed into sweats, and nested in my nicest blankets. All the Egyptian cotton in the world couldn’t absorb my misery. Part of me wanted to chug the wine and champagne in my fridge, but my stomach was already rolling, so I ordered Chinese food and doom-scrolled my phone amid episodes of reality TV.

My notifications pinged with client messages.

I sighed and swiped them away.

Let them take care of their own needs for a minute. I blocked my shoe-loving ex too while I was at it. I blew my nose and wrapped myself in a chunky blanket. At least no one would check on me. I could wallow as long as I needed.

I clicked through more social feeds and froze when Shelby’s popped up. She’d posted Harvey with the pretzel bites and captioned it, 'The Boy with the Bread' with heart eye emojis. I chuckled and liked it. At least someone had a nice time on our date.

She sent me a message.

Shelby: Hey, I hope you don’t think I’m a creep, but I got a picture of you and Zack when you weren’t looking. I didn’t want to post without permission, but you deserve at least one photo where he’s not glaring at the camera. ;P Do what you want with it, and have a great night! Hopefully, we can try this again sometime [sparkly heart emoji]

The picture loaded in our message chain. Harvey held a dart in the foreground. He eyed his girlfriend with loving censure, probably so tuned-in to her energy he noticed the second she raised a camera at him.

But beyond him, off to the right, me and Zack cozied up in our own little world. We angled toward one another, laughing and smiling. I’d propped myself on his shoulder, and he held onto my waist, his thumb grazing my bare midriff. He beamed at me like I was a model for the Closette, an angel in disguise. I grinned at him like he was Zack: former quarterback, possible soulmate, and total beefcake with overbearing, lovable ‘dad’ energy.

I sighed.

We were fucking gorgeous. Too bad that moment would be one of our last. At least she’d immortalized it for us. I sent her a heart emoji and saved the picture to my gallery. Although I’d never post it for the newfound ‘fans’ of me and Zack, this was an important memory. Priceless, really.

A text pinged through. Wow, I was popular this evening. When I saw who it was, I had to fight my gag reflex. I forgot to block his actual phone number too.

Theo: Hey, did your bf make you block me?

Did it matter?

Theo: Don’t let him get rid of my stuff, baby. I think I left one of my hoodies at your place.

I scoffed and glanced at my closet. What hoodie was he talking about?

Me: Maybe it’s at one of your other girlfriends’ places.

Theo: [pleading face emoji] Come on, I liked that shit. Let me come over and get it.

He did have a spare pair of underwear and a shirt stowed somewhere around here. Nothing that required an at-home visit, though, especially after the scene he caused with Zack.

I almost typed out, “My boyfriend wouldn’t like that.” But fuck using another man as a defense. No more excuses.

Me: You don’t get to treat everyone like shit and then expect them to bend over backwards. Don’t come over. Lose my number.

Theo: I’m sorry you feel that way baby :( But I do need my things.

He needed some fucking empathy.

Me: I’ll look around for them and send when I get the chance.

Then, he wouldn’t have any other reason to contact me.

Theo: Hit me up when you wanna meet.

I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t going to be some opportunity to rekindle things. I was pretty sure he didn’t even like me. His ego was bruised. He needed to reassure himself he was still pretty.

Well, he had Bigfoot for that. Miss Purple Purse could stroke his ego all she wanted. I didn’t need any reminders of Theo in my apartment. All I had left of the guy I actually wanted to be with were a few photographs on my phone.

Frustration bubbled high enough that I was motivated to get out of bed. I tore through my closet to purge myself of ex-lovers. What did Theo find so valuable he had to message me, anyway?

Armando and Hitch T-shirt: $25

Socks: $20 for a pack

Neck chain: $45 (a gift from me, by the way)

Gray designer sweatpants: $98 (another gift, part of a set)

And he threw my heart away for an ugly pair of shoes. If I totaled up everything I got him…

I did the math and eyed the mirror on the closet door, holding up the remnants of my ex. I sure as hell wasn’t going to use my non-relationships for content, but I did have some general observations. As a fashion enthusiast. As a person.

I nodded at my reflection.

It was time to take my brand back.