“What’s going on?” Shelby asks like she has no idea, when in reality she probably knows the whole story.
“Nothing.” I shake my head and walk back into my office. I know I said nothing, but I also know they are not just going to let me go like that. I walk into my office, seeing the vase of tulips that was delivered along with the white box in the chair. I didn’t even get a chance to open the box, all I did was open the card that was in the flowers. I honestly thought they were from my dad, so I opened the envelope all happy until I read the fucking note.
Sofia,
Hope you can make it.
Your friend,
Matthew
To say I was shocked was an understatement, when he left my house last night, I felt like we broke up yet again. I picked up the bag of food before I walked into the kitchen. I put it directly in the fridge before turning off all the lights and walking upstairs. I was numb, to say the very least, as the conversation we had played over and over in my head. It was a conversation that was two years in the making. It was a conversation I had played in my head over and over for two years. I told him how much of an asshole he was and how he broke my heart. What I wasn’t ready for was his side of the story. For the past two years, I thought it didn’t bother him. I thought he wasn’t as affected as I was, but the way he said, “There are a few things I’ve done in my life I regret, and that night is number one on that list. I lost the best thing that had ever happened to me. I lost the woman who I loved more than life itself. I lost half of my soul that night.” I thought my legs would have given out right then and there.
Everyone said there was no closure. Well, we have closure now. The door is slammed shut and locked. The book is now closed, and we can both move on. Except something says this is far from over.
“You got flowers?” Clarabella asks when she walks in and goes to sit down calmly.
“Yes,” I say, pointing at them. “And something in there,” I tell her as she picks up the white box and shakes it side to side.
“It could be a bomb,” Presley teases, chuckling. “You know what it isn’t?” She waits for us to say something. “His dick.”
“Definitely not his dick,” Shelby declares and I just gawk at her. “I’ve seen him, he has to be packing to walk with all that swagger.” I just roll my eyes because Matthew Petrov owns his swagger and he is, in fact, packing below the belt.
“Well, are we going to open it or are we going to play guessing games all day?” Clarabella asks as she hands me the box.
“It’s probably something to irritate the fuck out of me.” I grab the box and undo the satin bow on top before flipping the top of the box open and moving the white tissue paper to the side. “Oh my God,” I say, looking down at the white shirt.
“Is that a hockey jersey?” Clarabella asks, trying to roll her lips so she doesn’t burst out laughing.
“Unfortunately,” I confirm, putting the box down and taking out the shirt. I don’t have to turn it over to see that it has his name on the back.
“What is going on?” Presley looks at me, then back at the shirt and then to the flowers.
“Nothing,” I deflect, shoving the jersey back into the box. “Less than nothing. He sent me flowers and tickets to the game, and apparently that.”
“Code purple!” Shelby shouts.
“We are all here,” Clarabella states, then turns to me. “Are you going to wear this?”
“Not a chance in fucking hell!” I shout. “I’m not even going to the game.”
“Oh, here we go,” Clarabella starts, “you are going to go to the game tonight.”
I stare at her, my eyebrows pinching together. “Oh, no, I’m not.” I shake my head at the same time.
“Just don’t drink any booze because you might end up having sex with him,” Shelby advises. “I drank on my fake honeymoon, and well, we had sex. A lot.”
“I drank when I ran away from my wedding,” Clarabella adds. “Definitely had sex that night.”
I look over at Presley, who just laughs. “I had sex all the time, there was no need to drink.”
“You were drunk the first time you asked him to take your virginity,” Clarabella reminds her.
“Oh, yeah,” Presley remembers, “definitely don’t drink.”
“I am not going, so that is a nonissue,” I tell all of them.
“If you don’t go, he’ll know he got to you,” Shelby says, folding her arms over her chest.