Minutes that feel like centuries pass with no reply from Tigger.
By the time I get home, I’m fuming, as angry with myself as I am with him. How could I have let myself get so close to someone when I had such reasonable reservations? What made me think I can be with a guy in the first place? Me, with all my issues?
Then again, I should give myself a break. I did overcome my germ fears and sleep with him—and this is what I get for my bravery.
Fucker.
Seething with anger, I dial his number.
The phone rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.
“Are you ignoring my calls?” I growl. “Fine. Don’t bother calling back. I never want to see you or speak to you again.”
There. If only I could convince myself of the same thing.
Feeling dirty in part from the message I left, but mostly from the hug with Waldo earlier, I take a shower. It soothes me temporarily. But by the time I put on a fresh set of clothes, I’m back in crazy town and berating myself for letting my guard down with Tigger.
Unable to think of anything better to do, I videocall Blue and explain the whole situation.
“Wow, I’m so sorry,” she says when I’m done. “Is there any way this could be a misunderstanding?”
“Sure,” I say bitterly. “And you know who could clear it up? Tigger! But he’s incommunicado.”
“Why don’t you send me the picture,” she says. “I can run the image through our facial recognition database to see what I can learn about the fiancée.”
I do as she says and watch her type away on the laptop.
The doorbell rings.
“Who’s that?” she asks. “Tigger?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my pulse jumping. “Let me go check. I’ll call you back.”
Could it be Tigger? If so, did he forget to check his phone before coming back? Actually, why would he be back at all? Does he want to use me for sex a few more times before going back to his fiancée?
If it’s the latter, could I bribe Hannibal to bite His Royal Hardness?
“Who is it?” I ask when I reach the front door.
“Waldo,” says a familiar voice.
I open the door and look at my friend in confusion.
“Hey,” he says, stepping inside. “After you left, I got increasingly worried, so I came to check on you. Sorry I didn’t call—I seem to have lost my phone. You haven’t seen it, have you?”
“Nope,” I lie. I’ll have to sneak it back into his pocket ASAP. “And I’m totally fine. Like I said, there was nothing between me and the prince.”
Waldo looks relieved. “Really?”
“Really really. Now if you don’t mind, I need to—”
“Hold on.” Waldo shifts from foot to foot. “I have to tell you something.”
I frown. “More bad news?”
He takes a step back. “No. Well, I hope not.”
I look at him expectantly.
“I’ve… been meaning to ask you. Do you want to get coffee sometime?”
I look at Waldo like he’s about to shoot coffee from his eyes. “Isn’t that something we do all the time?”
“Maybe dinner then,” he says. “Or lunch.”
Wait a second. “Waldo,” I say incredulously. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
Taking another step back, he sheepishly nods.
“You’re asking me—your friend friend—on a date? Asking me, knowing full well how vulnerable I am right now?”
He takes another step back. “I thought you said you didn’t care about him.”
“I lied.” I step toward him menacingly. “Was this your brilliant plan from the start? Reveal to me that the guy I’m seeing has a fiancée, just so you can ask me out yourself?”
I know I’m shooting the messenger to some degree, but I don’t care. Waldo’s privates are in as much danger as Tigger’s would be if he were here.
Waldo must read some of this on my face because he backs all the way into the doorframe and turns partially to hide said privates. “I wanted to ask you out long before he came into the picture, ever since we first met, in fact, when I interviewed you for that article.”
I shake my head slowly, too flabbergasted for words.
“Should I leave?” he mutters.
I take in a deep breath. “Yes, please. I don’t want to date anyone anytime soon.”
His expression crestfallen, Waldo turns and shuffles away.
I return to my frantic pacing, now equal parts confused and angry, with a smidge of guilt. It almost hurts to admit it, but it seems like on top of everything else, Tigger was right about Waldo.
My friend wasn’t happy to be just friends.
I halt in my tracks.
Wait a second.
Is that why Waldo emphasized that Tigger was, and I quote, “a total playboy?” Was he badmouthing the competition?
That would mean he not only looks like the Green Goblin, but is driven by a green monster as well.
Then again, Waldo didn’t force Tigger to get engaged. Unless—
A videocall from Blue lights up my phone.
“I have news,” she says without preamble.
“Tell me,” I growl, the dule of doves performing somersaults in my belly.
Blue brings the phone close to her face and enunciates every word as she says, “That picture is fake.”