Not Your Fault by Cheyanne Young

that I need to do all of these things every single day.
    Because one day, the text or the call I rush to answer might actually be Kris. And one day he might compliment my hair. Or the sparkly clear polish on the tips of my midnight blue nails. One day, unlike the last twelve fucking days, he might actually show up to the business he owns and talk to me again.
    I lower my mascara wand and glance at the date on my cell phone’s home screen. Yep. It’s now day thirteen since the day after make out day, and I’ve had no word from Kris. Cat insists that I should text him first, but that isn’t happening. I didn’t run after him when he left me all those years ago. I’m not going to run after him now.
    Unlucky thirteen. Tyler was always superstitious about things like that. He would warn not to go out on Friday the thirteenth because something bad would happen. I always told him superstitions are for idiots, but he’d just shake his head and tell me I’d have to learn the hard way. I wonder if anything will happen today. If the sign I asked Tyler to send me will be revealed, on this the thirteenth day after make out day. Honestly, I don’t even care. If the sign is bad news then it’s bad news. I just need to know.
    Today is Wednesday and it’s the one day a week I give an adults only dance class. It’s a lot like our other aerobics classes, where we dance to upbeat songs, working the core and butt and thighs, only the moves are more sexual. Most of the dances are equivalent to giving an imaginary lap dance. Some women balk at the moves, but I love this class because it works my backside muscles like nothing else, short of actually being a stripper, can. Occasionally we’ll have some men join the class, saying they want to ditch the weights for an hour of cardio. I always smile and pretend they aren’t here to check us out.
    “You think he’ll show up today?” Cat asks, suddenly in my bedroom doorway when I had thought I was alone in my own house. I let out a yelp and flinch so hard my mascara swipes across my face, leaving an army-style line under my eye.
    “Jesus, Cat you could knock to announce your presence, ya know.” I lick my finger and rub it across my cheek, then reapply some BB cream on the freshly spit-cleaned skin. “Don’t make me take your house key away.”
    She disregards my threat because we both know it was an empty one. “Well?” she asks, crossing her arms and giving me one hell of a mocking glare as she watches me finish my new makeup routine.
    “Well what?” I ask, rising from the chair and smoothing my hands over my spandex pants. “I’m just going to work and I do not care who else will be there.”
    She shoves me in the shoulder as I walk out to grab my purse and car keys off the kitchen counter. “You are so full of shit,” she says, following me like a puppy wanting a treat. “I’m starting to think ya’ll are hooking up secretly and you’re keeping me out of the loop here.”
    “That’s not happening,” I say as a snort of laugher escapes me. “He doesn’t like me. He’s too—” I stop myself midsentence and walk out the door, giving my sister a half-assed goodbye. I can’t believe the words that almost came out of my mouth. He’s too good for me . Why the hell do I think that? Because he’s so unbelievably gorgeous and I’m just me? Plain and average? Because he has money and probably dates models, except for that one girl who was so not a model, and I don’t have money and I date losers like Nathan?
    I shake my head, wishing I should shake all thoughts of Kris out of it. Nothing good will come from liking him and our make out session was just a one time mistake. I’ve had one time make out mistakes before, so I know I can handle this one.
    Shaking my head, telling myself empowering thoughts and even pretending to daydream about movie stars does nothing to ward Kris out of my mind. This man will drive me insane, if I’m not already insane. But that’s the