Home > The Troublemaker(19)

The Troublemaker(19)
Author: Claire Contreras

“I mean, I will today.” I unsnap my seat belt and pick up my purse from the floor before looking at him.

“We should hang out.”

“We should.”

“Maybe go on a date or something.”

“Yeah, that would be fun.”

“If this had been a date, I would kiss you right now.”

“Next time then.” I smile and open the door.

“Misty,” he calls out as I get out of the car and shut the door. He lowers the window. “Next time.”

“Thanks for the ride,” I say with a wave and walk inside.

I’m still a little tipsy from the seltzers. I take my phone out and text Soleil to let her know I’m home and ask her if she’s staying over at Archer’s. My phone buzzes while the elevator is still on the tenth floor.

Soleil: I’m staying. Glad you’re safe. Kian is cute.

I start typing and delete it. Kian is cute but he doesn’t do it for me. I sigh, putting away my phone when the elevator chimes and opens in front of me. I feel the color drain from my face when my eyes clash with Mitchell, who’s with the blonde from the party. I tear my gaze from his and push myself to walk past them, stepping into the elevator the moment they’re no longer in it. I push the number ten three consecutive times, hoping no one else joins me in it. It shuts and then I’m moving and breathing a little easier when the distance is put between myself and Mitchell.

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

 

 

Past

 

 

My smile was wide as I opened the door for Mitchell, but it fell the moment I saw the look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” I opened the door wider and let him walk inside my aunt’s apartment.

“We need to talk.” He ran his fingers through his hair and dropped his hand with a slap against his waist.

“Okay.” I shut the door quietly and walked over to him, heart tight in my chest because I already knew what he might say and I truly didn’t want to hear it. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just . . . ” He exhales and faces me, his green eyes sad as they hold my gaze. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I swallowed, feeling unshed tears build in my eyes. I took a step forward. He backed up.

“This. We can’t be together. You’re leaving tomorrow and this isn’t going to work.”

“Why not?” I frowned. “We’re seeing each other on Thanksgiving. That’s only a few months away. We can probably see each other for Labor—”

“No.” His voice held a finality I hadn’t heard before. “We had fun this summer. I’ll always remember it, but it’s over, Misty.”

“But.” I blinked, the unshed tears now trickling down my cheeks. “But I love you.”

He grimaced, looking away as if I’d slapped him. As if what he was saying wasn’t making my entire world feel like it was crumbling beneath my feet. I was the one who should’ve felt slapped, attacked, completely blindsided. He knew I loved him. We hadn’t said it, but the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, I knew he loved me. He had to.

“You love me too,” I said, voice gravelly and uneven. “I know you do.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He met my gaze again and I could tell he was hurting. “Baseball is my number one love and I can’t afford any distractions.”

“So that’s what I am now?” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “A distraction?”

“It was fun. It was great. I’ll always cherish—”

“I don’t give a fuck that you’ll cherish it.” I blinked more rapidly, hoping it would help clear my vision, but it didn’t. I could barely see him now. Maybe it was better that way. “Get out. Get out of my life.”

I pointed toward the door. He stood there, unmoving, but only for a moment, then he left and shut the door behind him. I didn’t know it was possible to physically feel a heart break, but I did. The pain in my chest was unbearable. I let my knees crash onto the carpet beneath me and continued to sob.

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

 

Present

 

 

I’m standing on the small balcony that overlooks the quiet street when I hear my doorbell. Frowning, I click the vape in my hand to turn it off, and walk inside. When I look through the peephole, I don’t expect to see Mitchell standing on the other side. Dylan, maybe. Not Mitchell. Definitely not Mitchell in a black T-shirt and gray lounge pants. I open the door slightly.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t sleep.” He runs his fingers through his dark hair with an exhale. “I’ve tried, Misty. I’ve tried to forget you and move on. I’ve tried to convince myself that you were a summer romance or just a friend, but then I see you at parties flirting with other guys or at family gatherings on the other side of the room trying to avoid me and I just can’t do it anymore.”

Because I’m essentially high, it takes me what feels like a full minute to process what he’s saying, and even after I think I’ve processed it, I don’t quite believe it. I tilt my head slightly and narrow my eyes up at him.

“I’m confused.”

“About what?” He’s looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I just . . . I thought that was very clear.”

“Yeah, but . . . ” I bring my vape up and shake it around. “I’m kinda high.”

“I thought you stopped doing that.”

“Well, I did, and then my anxiety laughed at me and I picked it back up again.”

“So you don’t understand me?” He frowns.

“Of course I understand you. I just don’t understand why you’re saying this to me at three o’clock in the morning. I don’t understand why you’re saying this to me after you’ve already brought a girl back to your apartment. I don’t understand why you’re saying this to me five years after we did what we did and you dismissed my feelings for you like they were nothing. So yeah, I’m confused.”

“Oh.” He drops his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Well, when you figure it out, come back and let me know because I’m not playing this game with you anymore. I’m not going to be your booty call or your side chick, or the girl you’re on and off again with.” I start closing the door, but his palm comes up to stop it. My eyes meet his and the determination in them makes my heart skip a beat.

“You were never a booty call or a side chick and would never be an off-and-on girl to me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” I whisper.

“Say you’ll give me another chance.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“Please.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“That’s fine. I’m fine with that.”

“So, what, you want to hook up with me?” I let out a laugh. “Is that what it’ll take for you to see we’re not meant to be together?”

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