Cruel Summer

“Chels, I’m sorry,” he said. Blurted it, really, even though he’d said it once before. She hadn’t been in a mood to listen then, but she was trapped now.

“For—? Oh!” Her gaze came up and flickered away, but not before he saw the pang of old pain in them. “Forget it. I have.” Her nose went down and her book came up.

“I was young and stupid,” he said.

“So was I.” She flipped another page.

He winced, surprised how much that hurt. The one thing Chelsea had never been was stupid. She was not only book smart, but she didn’t make a lot of life mistakes. His sister made questionable choices, but Chelsea had always put thought into her future. If she had chosen him as The One, it had been because she really believed he could make her happy.

Which told him how much he’d disappointed her.

She was also the girl who could keep up with his sister, talking a mile a minute, making jokes, never backing down from a bit of hazing from a guy, and she was always the one to reach out with her heart pinned firmly on her sleeve.

For her to be this dismissive of him and his callous treatment, well, it told him exactly how far he’d been relegated to her past.

What had he thought, though? That they’d hook up this week while his sister got married?

Dinner. He’d definitely hoped for that much. He wanted to make up. He missed her. That card of hers had been so much more than a social convention. She’d reminded him how good, how really good she was as a person. Kind-hearted and thoughtful.

Everything he wasn’t?

Hell, what could he ever say to excuse his behavior? The freedom of university, the course load that had sent him down dual paths of self-destruction and extreme stress relief, a gift of looks and charm that had always given him his pick of the females around him.

By the time she’d caught up to him as an impressionable freshman he’d been well on his way to world-class douche-dom, conceited enough to think his three years of experience was wisdom. He had convinced himself that sleeping with Chelsea was a favor, that he was initiating her into the world of possibilities around them. Then a former paramour had made him an offer he should have refused, and he hadn’t. Because life was to be enjoyed, right? Opportunities were supposed to be seized.

How had he imagined he’d get through a dinner and somehow explain himself in a way that allowed him to come out remotely elevated in her eyes?

“For what it’s worth, I grew up after that,” he said, not even sure if she was listening. Not blaming her if she wasn’t, but he had to try. “I’m not such an arrogant a-hole anymore.”

“I’m sure your girlfriend appreciates that.” Flip.

“We broke up.”

“That’s a shame.”

He snorted at her insincerity, oddly encouraged by it even as he stung under a fresh lash of guilt. Maybe he hadn’t grown up as much as he claimed. 

“Did you ever tell Amb—”

“No,” Chelsea cut in sharply.

“Anyone?”

“My therapist.” Her smooth lips offered up a flat smile as her gaze cut up to his and quickly flicked away.

He snorted, not convinced finding him cheating on her had been so traumatic she’d sought professional help, but wondering. She’d been through some tough times.

“Is there anything I could say or do to earn your forgiveness?”

“Letting me read my book would be a good start.”

Yeah, he’d missed Chelsea Parks. Who else could tell him to eff off so politely?