Deciding on You || a.i. (Book 2)

33 | Ashton

The biggest mistake I have ever made isn't sleeping with my best friend's girlfriend. It isn't being the sperm that won or letting Maddie leave Ohio for three years without telling her how I feel. No, it's asking Michael why he has a dozen welts littering his bicep.

I don't know why I did it, but now we're sitting in the middle of a fried chicken joint before Maddie's birthday party, and he won't shut the hell up. I didn't even get the chance to complain to him or whine about my self-loathing before he started gushing.

"So, then we get to the actual paintball place," he says, taking a sip of his water, his eyes a nice, bright contrast to my tired ones. "And we all know I don't like running, or getting hit with paint-filled bullets. But Reagan was excited so I tried to suck it up."

There's a hollow feeling in my chest that has been there for a week now, and I don't know how to get rid of it. I've tried drawing, I've tried playing soccer with Cooper, I've tried everything. But even being around Maddie doesn't help anymore.

I slurp down the rest of my orange soda and chew on my straw, glancing at the counter. We've been waiting forever.

"And I was running around for a while, but eventually I just hid behind something," he goes on. "She's cool and all but there's only so much running I can do."

"Yeah," I say, absentminded.

"So she eventually finds me and shoots me while I'm down," he laughs, "but then she sits next to me, pulls my goggles up, and kisses me. That's when I figure out it's a date, you know?"

I put down my cup and chew on my nails instead, letting Michael's story of a healthy relationship, in which he isn't a worthless idiot, pass through me without much recognition. I've gotten a total of 10 hours of sleep in the last three days, and all I want is to take a nap with Maddie.

Before that can happen, though, I have to put my game face on and talk to people for a few hours. I used to do that so easily, but now I'm not sure I can. At least not without alcohol.

"So I ask her, and it is," he says. "Later on, when we're driving to get smoothies, she goes 'Michael, I think you're my boyfriend. Is that cool?' Like, yeah, it's cool."

"We should have ordered ahead," I say, slouching down in my seat. "I mean, we're getting food for nine people."

"Nine?" he asks. "I thought there were eight of us."

Eight, nine. Same difference.

"Yeah, nine," I lie, just to get him to talk about literally anything else. "Maddie didn't tell you? She invited Milly."

His face falls, and his eyes are no longer bright. I can practically see his heart beat out of his chest, and if I weren't feeling so shitty, I'd laugh.

"Are you serious?" he asks just as an employee calls my name.

"No," I say, standing up from my seat.

I don't bother watching him go from stressed to relieved before getting the food. He scrambles out of his seat and catches up to me on my way out to my car.

"You're a dick," he says as I walk backwards to push the door open. "I haven't talked to her in weeks, she's pissed. What would you have done if I had a heart atta--Do you need any help?"

I don't say anything, and he opens the backseat of my jeep for me to put the food in. The car ride is quiet for the most part, since he has nothing to scold me about, until we get close to Maddie's and he opens his mouth.

"Did you get her anything?" he asks. At least it's not more about Reagan.

"My brother made her something, but no," I say, keeping my focus on the road ahead of me. "She said she didn't want anyone to get her anything."