That's How it Happens

2. The Art of a Breakup Confession

"So, that's how it happened."

"With Lora from the third floor? How..."

Sighing, Ainsley placed her chin in her hand and stared at Leo. That same question had plagued her since she awoke this morning. Well, after she got her wits about her when she realized last night wasn't exactly a dream. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure which parts were, but the bruises on her arms from pinching herself were tell-tale proof; a lot of it wasn't. She quickly looked down at her phone, her stomach swirling, hoping he didn't notice the flush she could feel on her cheeks, instead forcing herself to think of the situation at hand. He was already interrogating her with his rapid-fire curiosity. The last thing she needed was to give him more fuel, and now, he was attempting to offer advice. She could tell his effort was going nowhere.

Leo was doing a circular nod, which meant he was clueless—the poor guy. If you knew him, you knew he always had something to say. So, the fact that he wasn't saying anything was a little out of the ordinary.

His eyes lit up, and she winced, bracing herself for the cringeworthy advice to come. Instead, he winked at a passing redhead, and in that same distracted pause, a look of sudden, dawning horror crossed his face. He'd forgotten Ainsley. He snapped his attention back to her as if no time had passed.

Ainsley watched all of this with a smile at his attention-deficit issue and patiently waited for him to mull it all over again. She stopped being upset over his wandering attention years ago. It wasn't something he could help. Sometimes, he just got distracted by redheads, blondes, or really anything with legs and boobs. Unfortunately, it was a part of his charm that, as a friend, you just learned to accept. He sometimes got distracted by Ainsley, though he'd never admit that to himself or her. His face lit up, and she hid her smile as she mouthed, "light bulb."

"And these are the days of our lives," he cooed in a voice that slid somewhere between a lounge singer and a sitcom dad. The reference made no sense, but the intent was clear: he was trying to be charmingly funny and failed miserably.

Sitting up straight, she rolled her eyes and turned away. When he came to her about the hottest office gossip this morning, she knew better than to feed into it. Even if it were her truth, it always just made it worse. With the headache she was sporting today, her patience was not compatible with Leo's jokes - not without caffeine.

"Wait," he laughed, his hand wrapping around her arm. "Hold on, doll."

He quickly turned, and a sharp pain shot through his hand. She had slapped him. A shocked laugh escaped. "Whoa!" He held up his hand. "Easy there, Annabelle." Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed into a pointed accusation. He put his hands up in surrender, still grinning. "Just teasing, devil doll. Don't go all ax-crazy on me, too." He followed this jab with a relieving reminder of a particular horror flick about a possessed doll that he had forced her to watch with him.

Why had she told him about her daydreams regarding murder? Thank God she had stopped there. She couldn't fathom telling him about the other thing that happened last night. He would never let her live down the fact that she had allowed a mysterious masked avenger to kiss her. Her stomach fluttered at the memory of that kiss. It really was romantic, and Leo was anything but. He always made fun of her for liking the romances. Honestly, she was embarrassed to tell him that she had a one-night-stand kiss. Even thinking of it in that capacity made her blush. The very thought teased her mind – his mysterious familiarity, but it was lost in the pulsing pain left behind from the dreadful heartbreak cure.

"So."

"So, what?" Leo responded, looking up briefly from his phone. She thought about shrugging it off, but she needed a break from her own issues. And more so, where her mind was starting to go as she stared at her friend.