“Let me guess, you’re not into affection in general.” I side-eye him. “You hate cuddles, don’t you?”
“I don’t mind cuddling. But only with women I have serious feelings for.”
I nearly swallow a potato chip whole, springboarding off the opportunity to pry about Angie. “Women you have serious feelings for, huh? Like your gorgeous exes, Natalie and Kyla? Or . . . someone else?”
He keeps his lips tight and shrugs, obviously enjoying my burning desire to know. “You’re always asking questions about me, but I never get the chance to ask about you.”
My brows knit together. “You already know everything about me.”
“Not everything. You never actually told me what happened with you and Seth.”
Damn. I didn’t expect that. I examine my split ends, suddenly unnerved. “Seth is . . . just . . . I don’t know. He sucks.”
“Why were you engaged to him if he sucks?” His tone isn’t judgmental. More curious.
“That’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
I keep examining my hair, mustering up a logical explanation. “Okay. Fine. When I first met Seth, he was finishing his pediatric residency. He was still technically a student, getting his certifications at the same time. He was shy, sweet, almost timid. Wicked smart, at the top of his class but didn’t brag. I was so attracted to him because of his passion for his job. He was the young doctor who cared a little more than the others. He took extra time to reassure his patients’ parents. He was really well loved.”
“What changed?” he asks, reaching for the chips.
I pass him the bag. “A few things. He was—technically, he is—a great doctor. And that went to his head, fast. Status, as well as the money. Once he got that first paycheck, he just changed. Started buying lavish things. Showered me with gifts. He’s one of those people who will make you feel like the center of the universe. But when he’s not shining his light on you, you might as well be a frozen-tundra dwarf planet in the darkest, most inhospitable corner of the galaxy.”
“Must have been tough seeing him change into a different person.”
I stretch my arms over my head and yawn. “Yeah. We fought about it all the time. I was desperate for things to go back to how they were in the beginning . . . so I panicked and proposed.”
Two years into our relationship, I planned an elaborate proposal （if Monica Geller could do it, why couldn’t I?）。 With him as a man who’d just discovered power, I may as well have castrated him with a rusty spoon.
“And he said yes?”
“Yup. He said he felt pressured because his parents were pushing him to settle down since he was finally done with school. He was never involved in wedding planning. He got super cranky about anything to do with it.”
The resentment had been a slow, demoralizing build. I buried myself deep in wedding planning while he decided to spend the remainder of his unmarried time like someone with just one month left to live. While he worked hard, he also played hard. On his days off, he gambled carelessly at the casino; went on random trips with his new, wealthy friends; and impulse-purchased a luxury sports car.
I handled this new side of him about as well as I handle all other change: like a jellyfish trying to do ballet. I accused him of having a quarter-life crisis. He accused me of being a twenty out of ten on the Richter scale of crazy. And then we were done. Just like that.
“Anyway, when he finally broke things off, he told me I was too much for him. Too needy. And that he didn’t love me anymore. Wasn’t sure if he ever had.” I hang my head. The memory of those words still stings. “You think I’m pathetic, don’t you?”
“No.” Trevor shakes his head, his eyes locking to mine. “The opposite. I think most people who go through something like that would give up on love entirely. And you haven’t.”
“Believe me, I’ve wanted to. It’s way easier to settle for a paperback prince than it is to put yourself out there. But I’m a glutton for punishment, I think.” I huff a weary breath.
“You definitely are. But that’s what makes you you,” he says, catching me off guard with a disarmingly sincere smile.
I blink it away before I melt into a puddle. “Anyway, my turn to ask you something.”
He sits up a little straighter, preparing himself. “All right, shoot.”
“Who’s Angie?”
? chapter fourteen
TREVOR HAS YET to admit Angie exists, aside from joking about her being his spy handler. I’ve long given up pestering him for the truth. Technically, it’s his business. If he doesn’t want me in it, who am I to push?
Either way, during our limited time together over the holidays, I’ve learned it’s all about the small victories with Trevor Metcalfe. For example, he’s now weirdly into The Bachelor. The other night when I was watching Little House on the Prairie, he asked why I wasn’t watching The Bachelor and when did the next episode air? He’s also started reading on the couch with me during the evenings, borrowing the thrillers I haven’t had the heart to read because I don’t take plot twists well.
Ever since I accused him of being secretive, he texts me photos of everything he eats when we’re not together. Today, it’s asparagus-stuffed chicken （because of his New Year’s resolution to eat healthy）。 In response, I sent him a photo of my prized box of Rainbow Chips Ahoy! cookies, which I impulse-purchased after crossing ex-boyfriend number nine, Mark, off the list.
Mark and I had been members of a book club we both didn’t like but didn’t know how to politely leave. We only dated for a month, but it got serious fast. He even introduced me to his parents and his ailing grandfather, which is why I was shocked when he broke up with me after I casually made a comment about a friend’s engagement ring.
When I messaged Mark randomly on the day after Christmas, he told me straight up he wasn’t interested in meeting but that he wanted his old Beatles T-shirt back. I dutifully excavated it from the Ex-Files box and dropped it off in the mail this morning.
TREVOR: You better save me some of those cookies.
I snicker to myself as I duck into the hospital stairwell. Usually, I spend my breaks in the nurses’ lounge, but after my colleagues caught wind of my ex-boyfriend search, I can’t go a minute without one of them pestering me for details about my dates and the remaining exes. That’s something Crystal warned me about: when you’re open with your personal life online, people feel entitled to know everything about you. And if you dare prefer to keep some things private, you need a good excuse.
I snap a shot of two empty cookie container rows and send it to Trevor.
TARA: No can do. Someone stole my Greek yogurt again from the communal fridge. I need all the nutrients I can get.
TREVOR: I told you to write your name on the yogurt container.
TARA: I did! In double-thick Sharpie.
The ellipses signaling he’s typing pop up and stop numerous times before he finally responds.
TREVOR: Tara, will you accept this link?
The text is followed by a link to the casting call for the new Bachelor season.
TARA: I’m not even going to ask how you came across that.