Nothing in our relationship says relationship anymore. Caleb’s words have become curt, and I haven’t been a peach myself. To be honest, we’ve coexisted in this place for about a month now. We’re at that point in our relationship-you know, the one where it’s more of a hassle to be together than to be apart. He sits there for another two minutes, wringing his hands together, before he slides into the bed to lie beside me. Ten minutes later, Caleb tiptoes in from the bathroom and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. I lie awake, watching the minutes tick by on the clock on my bedside table. “Whatever,” I mutter, rolling on my side and reaching over to flip the lamp off. I want to argue back, to say something equally as unfriendly, but it’s no use. I love my bi-weekly lunch meetings with my brother.Īn unfriendly muffled response filters through the bathroom door. I could have sworn he said two-thirty because he’ll be across town and there’s no way he could arrive by two, but maybe he changed his mind? Either way, I’ll make it. Tossing my phone onto the empty pillow beside me, I think back to our conversation on Wednesday. Then it hits me: Liam must have a new number…again, and he must have forgotten to tell me…again. I stare at the text on my phone, brows pinched in confusion because it’s not a number I recognize.
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