In The Weeds

“It’s because their parents were in a jam, I think.”

“I heard some of them crying, I think.”

“What?”

“The strawberries,” he explains. “I heard some of them crying.”

Not for the first time, I’m jealous. I’ve never had that with another person. Never been able to slide into someone’s space and press my fingertips to their skin, watch them lean further into me

And then she left. Again.

And unfortunately for me, I still haven’t figured out how to stop thinking about her.

He sounds frustrated, uncomfortable. He’s holding himself too still in the corner by the desk, his eyes angry and upset. I don’t know why it hurts for him to call me Evelyn, only that it does.

And more than that, I’m not in the habit of running from my problems. Beckett was a choice I made. A choice I have zero regrets about, despite the memories of that night sticking to me like glue. I was telling him the truth when I told him he made a fine distraction. For once, I was blissfully out of my head. I laughed. I had fun.

I felt like myself.

The only sign that she was here at all is a half-empty glass of water on the dresser—a crumpled receipt on the desk.

I collapse face-first into my pillow.

This, at least, is a familiar feeling. Waking up alone.

“Stupid,” I tell myself. I sigh and dig the heel of my palm into my forehead.

“No. Turns out you’re a fine distraction, Beck. The best kind, really.”

It turns out I don’t mind tequila so much when I taste it on her.

“I don’t usually get distracted on work trips,” she explains.

Neither do I. I don’t usually get distracted at all.