And so, I stopped in my tracks and waited for her to turn around and throw me a questioning look. “Come over tonight.”

“Tonight? What…why?”

I rolled my eyes. “You know why.”

Connie cleared her throat and very pointedly turned back around. She continued on up the path and kept her gaze focused on the gate up ahead. “I’m going on a date this evening.”

“Date?” I echoed. The word sounded dry in my mouth.

“Yeah.”

I swallowed down the pit of envy making its way up my throat, threatening to seep out in the form of words I didn’t want to say. If there had been a spare plot nearby, I have no doubt I would have happily hurled myself into it. So much for taking chances. “With who?”

“Jim. He asked me to meet him for a drink.”

“Jim.” I nodded and gnawed down on my lip, willing my shoulders to shrug. “Going for a drink with Jim. That’s…good. I guess. I mean—have fun with that. Your date with Jim.”

* * * *

I fucking hated Connie O’Reilly.

I paced across my bedroom for the fiftieth time. I tried listening to music but no records felt quite right and so I paced in silence, cursing every second from the very day I met her right up to that moment. I hated her for always floating around somewhere in my mind, her very existence always threatening to rise up to the surface and consume my every thought. I hated the hold she had over me—had always had over me—so that every little thing I did somehow irretrievably revolved around her in some manner. I hated how much she mattered to me. I hated how it didn’t matter how she hurt me. I hated how I only managed to connect with the real parts of myself when I was alone with her, and how without her, the very core of my being felt misplaced. I hated that there was absolutely nothing in the world I wouldn’t do to make her happy.

I hated that she thought it was acceptable to be with me, never mention it, and then toddle off on a date the very next week.

If she wanted to go on that date, then fine. There was nothing I could do about it, after all—there was nothing I would do, even if I could. When all was said and done, I was her friend. Her best friend. She owed nothing to me. I owed nothing to her. She was allowed to date whoever she wanted, shag whoever she wanted. That was the core rule of our understanding, was it not? What existed between us was nothing more than a stupid one-night stand, an affair without ties or commitments? I had no right to be angry, or jealous. I had no right to be upset. The only thing I had the right to do was stand back and let her do as she pleased, my own heart be damned.