Second Chance Boyfriend

as a woman. No one ever does that. I don’t do that.
    He tips his beer at me, as if offering a toast. “Touché. Would you be surprised if I said I came in here looking for you?”
    Surprised? More like creeped out. “I don’t even know you. How could you be looking for me?”
    “I should rephrase that. I came here hoping I would find someone I could steal away.” At my raised eyebrows, he laughs. “I own a new restaurant in town. The District. Have you heard of it?”
    I had. Some new fancy place that caters to the rich college kids, the ones with an endless supply of money they can use to eat, drink and party. So not my scene. “Yeah.”
    “Have you been there?”
    I slowly shake my head. “No.”
    Leaning back against the seat, he studies me, his lids heavy as he does a slow perusal of…me. Now he’s totally checking me out and I can feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. The guy is sort of a jackass.
    I’ve always had a slight thing for jackasses.
    “Come with me to the restaurant tonight. I’ll show you around.” His mouth curves into not quite a smile and I’m tempted.
    But I’ve also sworn off men so I know this is a bad idea. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”
    “I’m not trying to ask you out on a date, Fable,” he says, his voice low, his eyes glowing. I take a step back, glancing around. I need to get away from this guy. Fast. But then his words stop me in my tracks. “I’m trying to offer you a job.”
     
    Drew
     
    “Let’s talk about Fable.”
    I tense up but nod. I try my best to appear neutral, like our new topic of discussion doesn’t bother me. “What do you want to know?”
    My shrink watches me, her careful gaze steady. “It still bothers you to hear her name.”
    “It doesn’t,” I lie. I try my best to appear nonchalant, but my insides are churning. I both dread and savor hearing Fable’s name. I want to see her. I need to see her.
    I can’t make myself go to her. And she’s clearly given up on me. I deserve her giving up. I gave up on her first, didn’t I?
    More like you gave up on yourself.
    “You don’t have to lie to me, Drew. It’s okay if it’s still difficult.” Dr. Sheila Harris pauses, tapping her index finger against her chin. “Have you considered trying to see her?”
    I shake my head. I consider it every day, every minute of my life, but my considerations are useless. “She hates me.”
    “You don’t know that.”
    “I know I’d hate me for what I did if I were her. I shut down and shut her out, like I always do. She begged me again and again not to do it. That she’d be there for me no matter what.” Yet I left her. With only a stupid note that took me way too long to write, filled with a secret message that my smart, beautiful girl figured out right away.
    But she’s not my girl. I can’t lay claim to her. I ignored her. And now…
    I’ve lost her.
    “So why did you shut her out? You’ve never told me, you know.”
    My psychologist loves to ask the tough questions, but that’s her job. I still hate answering them. “It’s the only way I know how to cope,” I admit. The truth slaps me in the face on a daily basis. I always run.
    It’s so much easier.
    I sought Dr. Harris out myself. No one else pushed me to do it. After we came back from Carmel, after I ditched Fable and left her that bullshit note, I withdrew into myself worse than ever. I fucked up my game play. I fucked up my grades. Winter break came and I ran away. I literally ran away to some crazy cabin in the middle of the woods I rented from some nice old couple in Lake Tahoe.
    My plan? Hibernate like a bear. Turn off my phone, hole up by myself and figure my shit out. I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be, though, being alone with my thoughts. My memories, both the good and the bad, haunted me. I thought of the bombshell my stepmom Adele dropped on me. I thought about my dad and how much the truth—if it really is the truth—would affect him. I thought about my little sister Vanessa and how she died. How she might not be my little sister after all…
    More than anything, I thought of Fable. How mad she’d been when I showed up on her doorstep, but she let me in anyway. The way I touched her, how she touched me, the way she always seemed to break down my barriers and see the real me. I let her in. I wanted to let her in.
    And then I left her. With a note that was rendered pointless because she tried her damnedest to rescue me and I wouldn’t let her.