Page 13 of Daring Destiny
He nods incoherently, waves me off and shuts the door. I watch as the car speeds off into the night. The tension in my shoulders intensifies as I get into my own vehicle. The odds of me sleeping tonight are zero.
Half hour later, I get home to my townhouse—my parents built a compound years ago and gifted me and each of my brothers our own homes-- pull out my phone and scroll through the messages from Astrid I’ve been ignoring. God, I feel guilty about, essentially, ghosting her.
I’ve got to get better.
Little does she know, I wireframed our idea the day after we met but it’s been pushed to the side as CognifyAI dominates every waking hour.
Or am I making excuses?
Fuck.
I’m trying not to hyper-focus on her but the truth is, I think Astrid might be someone I could care about. It’s hard for me to tell, with so little experience, but I think this situation isverydifferent. What started out as a strange reconnection could be, at least, a friendship. One I didn’t expect.
The truth is, I like her.
I looked forward to getting together after our lunch. Then I got nervous. Aside from an apologetic text a few months ago, I haven’t made any effort.
Let’s be honest, it’s not because she’s done anything wrong. I’m fucking terrified of rejection. Petrified of misconstruing Astrid’s kindness as meaning something else.
It’s happened to me so many times.
“Brennan, you’re so awesome but…”
“Brennan, you’re so intense…”
“I’m so sorry, Brennan. I don’t think of you in a romantic way…”
I can’t hear those words from her. I can’t.
It’d be torture to be around her and, once again, pine like a loser when she friend-zones me. Or, worse, face the humiliation of her recoiling with horror if I had the guts to make a move.
Overthink much?
Have you met me?
On the other hand, she deserves basic courtesy. It’s fucking embarrassing she’s resorted to messaging me through my famous brother. Who the fuck do I think I am? I told her I’d help her with this project, and I’m a man of my word.
Before I can second-guess myself, I send her a text.
Me:Hey, Astrid. Sorry I’ve been MIA. Things have been crazy busy on my end. Can we set up another meeting? I’d like to pick up where we left off.
I hear nothing for the next ten minutes so I pull out my laptop and try to distract myself by firing off emails. It works. Until my phone pings an hour later.
Astrid:I appreciate the apology, but I’m not in the habit of being blown off. Are you sure you have the time for this?
Wow. I like her directness at calling me out. Very few people, other than my family and my board, have the balls to confront me these days.
Me:You’re right and no excuses. I won’t waste your time again. Thursday happy hour? I’ve got some ideas I think you’ll like.
Astrid:Let me guess, the Met Grill?
Me:Nah, you pick, I’ll come to you. Text me the place.
Astrid:Living on the edge, McGloughlin?
Me:I’ll take my chances.
Astrid:Challenge accepted, nite!