Jax pulled up to the curb. I noted him putting the gear in Neutral, which could only mean one thing, he didn’t plan on letting me leave too soon. A disturbing knot twisted my stomach. I disconnected my phone and the music stopped. The silence between us thickened with each passing second.
“I had a great time,” Jax said, shifting toward me. His eyes roamed my face.
“Me too.” It was a partial lie. This date had given me whiplash. I’d gone from the lowest low of self-doubt to the highest high of drunk overconfidence at least a dozen times since he’d picked me up from this very spot four hours ago.
Then it happened. He leaned forward and his face neared mine. I knew what was coming, but my body failed to respond to the pleas of my brain. I couldn’t explain the reason behind my stupor. Was it alcohol? Was it jealousy?
There were no fireworks when our lips collided. He had a nice mouth. Soft, warm, and positively unmemorable. It was like any other man that had kissed me before Frank.
“I’m sorry,” I squealed, pulling back. My heart banged against my ribs so hard, I could barely breathe. “I can’t do this, Jax. I really do enjoy your company, but I don’t like you the way you like me.” My voice leaked torment.
He stared at me with lost eyes, resolve and disappointment crossing his face. His breath, hot and minty from the gum, fanned against my cheeks.
I snapped out of my half-drunken stupor and hurried to unfasten my seatbelt. “I’m sorry I led you on.” My trembling whisper filled the cold stillness surrounding us. “You’re a very nice guy. I just don’t think I’m ready.”
All the blood in my veins rushed to my head. My entire face, including the tips of my ears, burned with embarrassment.
Jax slid back into his seat and rested both hands on the steering wheel. “I guess it’s true what they say.” His throat bobbed as he spoke. “Nice guys finish last.”
I wasn’t sure he wanted to hear encouraging words from me.
“I’m sorry.” I pushed the door open and climbed out of the car. “Thank you for dinner.” Our gazes locked one last time.
“Good night, Cassy,” he said with a sad smile.
“Good night.”
I stumbled through the empty courtyard, fighting the sudden tears. Ashton was still awake, watching TV, and for a second, I envied the simplicity of his life. His biggest problem was getting into a community college. He hadn’t had his soul crushed by the idol from his adolescent dreams. He didn’t have a huge nonprofit project that was failing to meet all possible deadlines. He didn’t have people trolling his social media or strangers emailing him even stranger photos.
“Was the date that bad?” he bellowed from the couch as I trudged past him into my room.
“Don’t talk to me for a week, will ya?” I slammed the door shut and tossed my purse on the chair. My head was full of cotton. My lips, still numb from the failed kiss, quivered. Flames of anger danced inside my stomach.
Kicking off my booties, I scrambled for my phone and hid in the bathroom. The ache swirling deep in my chest pushed and pulled, threatening to crack my ribs open. My pulse roared. Back against the cold tiled wall, I dialed Frank’s number and waited.
Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system recording…
The line beeped.
“You know what, Frank?” I began, my voice slurring and stuttering. “I hate you. I hate you for all the broken promises. I really thought you were different. I thought you understood what I was and what this project meant for me and for all the people involved when you agreed to be part of it, but you’re just like everyone else. Just another ignorant and selfish asshole who hides behind his money, who’d rather crawl back into his hole and watch the world and people in it go down in flames.” My throat was tight with worry. Tears swelled in my eyes. “I hate you because you won’t let me move on. You let me down and I’m all alone sorting through your shit. I wish I’d never met you. I wish I’d never known you, because I can’t fucking unlove you. I can’t fucking get you out of my head and it’s driving me nuts. It’s suffocating me. But I suppose you know a thing or two about that since my goodness is too much for you. Since you’d rather wallow in self-pity and let the alcohol numb the pain. I wish you’d seen it through. I wish you’d understood you’d been given a second chance for a reason. I wish you’d let go of the past and let music take you on a new journey. I wish you’d accepted your failures and moved on.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. My sobs muffled my speech. “I wish you’d let me be there for you instead of pushing me away. I wish you’d kept your promises. I wish you’d loved me back at least a little bit. At least for a second… I gave you my heart. I gave up everything I had for you—my career, my sleep, my sanity, my reputation, my privacy. And you know what you gave me? Memories that hurt and bruises to my soul. I don’t know how to stop thinking of you, how to stop worrying about you, and how to stop loving you. And I hate you for that. For making me love you so much.” My lungs were out of air. I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the blurred screen. There were more words, but they felt like an afterthought. Everything that I wanted and needed to say had been said.
So I hung up.
I woke up late with
