“I’m not telling you what to do, Viv, or putting ideas in your head.”
“What are you saying then?”
“That you have options, and I will always support your decisions. I’ve been talking more regularly with Alex,” she admits, and my eyes pop wide. “Just as friends,” she rushes to assure me. “I’m still seeing Troy, and Alex is casually dating. But he’s told me Reeve has reached out to him, and he’s making amends, putting more effort into their friendship. Alex said Reeve is missing you like crazy and he’s seen the error of his ways. He wants to fight for you, but he’s giving you space like you asked.”
“I’m not getting back with him.” I shake my head. “He betrayed me. The trust is gone.”
“I know, babe.” She props up on one elbow. “You feel like that now, but I speak from experience when I say you don’t know how you’ll feel in six months’ time, one year’s time, or two years from now.”
“No offense, Rey, but you can’t compare your breakup to mine.” I sit upright in the bed, resting my spine against the headboard. “Alex didn’t cheat on you in front of the whole world. That’s the big difference.”
She sits up beside me. “I know, but you and Reeve have a shit ton of history Alex and I don’t. That’s a big difference too.” She scrubs her hands down her face. “Ugh. I’m not explaining this right.” She turns her head to the side so we’re looking at one another. “Maybe things are completely over between you two, or maybe they’re not. But you’re here now. In a gorgeous place. You’ve made new friends. Found a new scene. And you’re glowing, babe. You’re turning a corner, and I think you should make the most of every opportunity.”
“You think I should get with Dillon?”
“I think you should do whatever you feel like doing. You have no ties, no responsibilities, no shithead paparazzi trailing your every move. You’re young, free, and single, and you can do whatever you want, do whomever you want,” she adds with a naughty glint in her eye.
“One part of me wants to do it, because I know it’s the first step in truly moving on, but another part of me is sick at the thought of sleeping with anyone else.” I bark out a bitter laugh. “It’s ridiculous, right?”
She vigorously shakes her head. “No. Not at all. I can relate, but here’s the thing. I didn’t start properly moving on until after I started dating again. Look at it this way,” she adds, pulling her knees into her chest. “Being with someone else is either going to help you to move on or confirm that things with Reeve aren’t fully reconciled.”
“What if I’m not ready to face that truth yet?” I whisper.
“Then you’re not ready.” She shrugs. “There’s no rule book for this. Just do what feels right. What makes you happy. But promise me you’ll try.”
“I am trying.”
“I’m proud of you, Viv, and I hope you’re proud of yourself too. You are stronger than most people I know. To come here after what happened and to pick up the pieces and start over in a new place is huge. Not many people could do it.”
“Heartache is a strong motivator. I’m not going to let what happened define who I am for the rest of my life. And no guy is going to determine how I live my life.”
“Atta girl.” She yanks me into another hug. “Now, let’s get up. We’ve got a parade to see.”
40
“Excuse me,” I say, holding the tray aloft as I edge my way through the crowded bar. The walls rattle with heavy beats as bands play on all available stages at Whelans.
“I got it,” a man with a familiar husky voice says from behind me, and I almost drop the tray in fright. Dillon chuckles, taking the tray as his mouth presses to my ear. “Do I make you nervous, Hollywood?”
“Don’t be stupid,” I lie. “As if.” I brush damp strands of hair behind my ears. It’s hot as hell in here, and I’m glad I took Ash’s advice and dressed casually and comfortably in jeans and a green T-shirt. A sprig of shamrock is pinned to my chest, and both Audrey and I have miniature Irish flags painted on our cheeks and green streaks in our hair.
“You’re really getting into the spirit of things, huh?” Dillon effortlessly holds the tray overhead with one hand as he rakes his gaze over me from head to toe. Placing his free hand on my lower back, he steers us toward our usual table in the corner. My skin burns from his touch, even through my shirt, confirming what I already know—I’m fucked when it comes to this guy.