Bennett Nichols had a record for assault? I’d have to remember to check that out later, when I wasn’t in a big old fight with my boyfriend.
“Why didn’t you just call and tell me that?” I yelled through the window, still not looking at him.
“Because I didn’t want to interfere, as crazy as that sounds.” He put a hand up to the window. “Will you let me explain . . . please?”
I hesitated and then rolled down the window. About three inches. “Talk.” I said, my eyes focused straight ahead.
I heard him sigh, whether it was out of exasperation or relief I didn’t know and didn’t care. “Listen,” he said, “I’ve seen people do some really messed-up things when they’ve felt threatened. My job . . . well, let’s just say it exposes me to the worst of human nature. I was worried about you, that’s all. Maybe I overstepped—”
“Maybe?” I snapped
“I did overstep.”
“You’re damn right you did. Do you have any idea how insulting this is? Not to mention completely unprofessional!”
Jay hooked his fingers over the window (I briefly considered rolling it up). “I’m sorry. I acted out of instinct and it was a bad call . . .”
I didn’t know what to think. Was he really sorry or only sorry because I found out?
As if he could read my mind, he said, “Riley, I’m really sorry.”
The intensity of his voice, almost begging me to forgive him, washed over me, dampening the remaining sparks of anger. “You should be,” I said.
“I am. Honestly.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know. It was wrong. Let me make it up to you?”
I turned to look at him properly for the first time since he walked over. He certainly looked sorry. And sincere. And super cute. And like he might have a few interesting ideas about how to make it up to me if I rolled this window down a little farther. And so I did.
Hey Riley,
Can I just say that I think we might have an almost psychic connection! I was thinking about u at the exact minute ur email came through. Crazy!
Also crazy about ur man following u . . . I don’t love that, I’ve gotta b honest. But if he says he’s sorry then I guess it’s fair to give him another chance. Fool me once, u know what I’m saying! But if he does it again, I think ur gonna need to invoke the wise words from Hamlet, Act III, Scene III, line 87, and tell him, “No.”
I’m sending u a link to a Bestmillenniallife.com podcast available for $1.99 on iTunes. This one is called GIVE IT UP and it focuses on how to learn to let go and live a more present, now-centered existence. But whatever u do, make sure u get GIVE IT UP from Bestmillenniallife.com and not another company because apparently, there’s another app with that same name that has quite a different message—haha lol!
Anyway. Give it a try and see if it helps—$1.99 is a pretty small investment* in ur mental well being, right? Or u could also share it with ur guy and see if it helps him. Sounds like the dude has some control issues.
xx,
Jenna B
Personal Success Concierge™
Bestmillenniallife.com
* I am obligated to tell you that the term “investment” here is used for promotional purposes only. Bestmillenniallife.com makes no claim that our products or services will directly result in any monetary gain. (Ugh, lawyers.)
CHAPTER 19
I woke up the next morning with Coltrane on my bed and Jay on my mind. After we’d made up, we decided to grab some dinner at Monroe’s, a bar in West Bay, rather than go home and cook as we had planned. We had a good time at dinner, and by the end of the evening I’d almost forgotten about the way it had started. I hadn’t stayed over at his place because Jay was working in the DC office again this morning and had to get up ridiculously early in order to make an early morning meeting. So instead of snuggling with Jay, I spent the night next to Coltrane, who—by the look of him, all coiled up like a large furry snake—was pretty happy with the way things worked out.
I was still a little bothered by what Jay did, but I was trying to let it go. After all, he’d apologized and I believed he meant it. And besides, he’d only followed me to make sure I was safe, so in a way that was a good thing. I rolled over and said to Coltrane, “A boyfriend who cares about your safety is better than one who doesn’t, right, buddy?” He licked himself in response. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.
Ready for some caffeine and a dose of perspective, I got up, made coffee, and went online to read the morning’s obits. I read about a woman who died at the age of sixty-four after a long battle with breast cancer. It was filled with warrior imagery and metaphors about battles fought and ultimately lost—but interestingly, mourners were asked to make donations not to one of the many cancer charities, but to the Critter Connection, a nonprofit organization dedicated to the rescue and rehabilitation of guinea pigs. And then I read about the life and death of a Latino man living in New York City who started the first off-Broadway theater company to produce the work of Latino playwrights in English. His life had not been an easy one, according to his partner, but it had meant something to an entire community. Then there was the story of Galen McDougal, a former British MP who died at the
