Fingers brushed across my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. “Hey, sleepy, wake up.”
I forced my eyes open and stared at the man sitting on the side of my bed. “Who let you in?” My alcohol-addled brain was already sorting out the answer and adding up the facts. Jake. Keys. He’d taken his keys.
“Someone had a big evening.” Jake shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching as I smacked my lips, rolling my tongue around in hopes of banishing that disgusting murky taste. “You three did some serious damage to a massive bottle of tequila.”
Yup, and now I longed to do some serious damage to a massive glass of ice water.
“You never returned my calls.”
The damp pillowcase stuck to my cheek. Ick. I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth, loathe to make the slightest move, sympathetic to my queasy belly. How would that be for a colourful good morning to my newest double-exed boyfriend?
“Now I know why. My little sister is passed out on your couch, and I assume Beth met the same fate in your guest room.” He sighed as he retreated. “Maybe you really are that done with me.” The door snicked shut as he exited my bedroom.
Excellent. Back to sleep for me. Anyway, this was probably a bad dream. A horrendous nightmare. I pressed my face deeper into the delicious, masculine smelling softness of well-worn leather, hugging it tighter and tighter … leather? Dreaming. Yes, dreams. Nightmares. Hallucinations, maybe?
“Mar.”
Mmmm. Warm hands on my arm, shifting me. An arm sliding around me, propping me up against a firm chest. The cold rim of a glass pressed to my lips. Ohhh, heaven. Icy water tumbled down my tortured throat as I took greedy gulps.
Jake pulled the glass away. “Slow down, or you’ll hurl. Wearing last night’s celebration or cleaning you up isn’t my idea of a good time.” He chuckled. “Wouldn’t mind showering with you, though.”
Ha. Ha. Funny guy. Enjoying my abject, hung-over misery, much? I squinted at him through aching eyeballs. Wouldn’t be the first time Jakob Cavallaro held back my hair while I kneeled at the porcelain altar, but that scenario was far less acceptable at this particular moment. Did I want him here, seeing me as a mucky, maudlin mess? Him smirking while I wished for a hasty death to eliminate the awful pounding in my head? Nope. Go away. Far, far, away. It’s all your fault, asshole.
“The place is a disaster. Did you stage a raid on the convenience store down the street?”
I tugged at the sleeves of the blue cotton garment engulfing my body as a vision of last night flickered into my consciousness. The second, then third pitcher of margaritas, then … tequila shots? The crazy dance to that late-night pop mix pouring through the high-end speakers, the flood of tears followed by a lurching path to my bedroom, stripping off my clothes, and … I bowed my head, my cheeks flaming as I picked a speck of lint from the front of the oversized sweatshirt. Jake’s black Dalhousie sweatshirt that I’d nicked from his drawer when I’d left those many years ago.
“You,” he said, his voice flat but firm, “really packed my things.”
Ahhh. Yup. I’d done that, avoiding Luci’s accusing stare as I raced around my apartment, stuffing her brother’s socks and boxer-briefs into his bag before slinging it to the floor by the front entrance. For good measure, and to make him truly feel like a shitty human, I’d shoved an incredibly expensive and intricately wrapped gift I’d bought for Sari between the folds of his jeans.
Followed by … ohhhh, crapola. No-no-no. A vision rose; the contents of my purse scattering as I fumbled for the business card and stupidly performed the dreaded drunk text. I hadn’t even thought of Christophe since the wedding all those months ago. What exactly had I said to him? In front of Luciana, no less. Had she ratted me out to her brother?
Jake propped himself on one hand, peering at me in the dim light filtering through the blinds. “No further discussion on the matter? It’s just over, huh?”
Guess not. No yelling from Jake. No berating, livid, betrayed words, either. I wiggled toward the edge of the bed, pushing the crumpled pile of leather to the floor. Geez. Caught cuddling his jacket, wearing his stolen clothing. Forever branded as the psycho, obsessed, twice-exed girlfriend who couldn’t quite let go, even as I shooed him out the door.
Jake caught me around the waist before my feet touched the floor. “Amara.”
“Just go.” Leave me to my miserable, single, babyless, bereft life.
“Please.” The mattress sunk as he kneeled, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
I froze, my body rigid. I could feel everything. The firmness of his chest against my back. The thud of his heart. The warmth of his arms. His sweet minty breath as he pressed his face to my hair.
“I love you,” he whispered. “That might not be enough, but please give me another chance. I fucked it all up, again, and I’m sorry.”
My breath hitched in my chest. Hold strong. Stay firm. Don’t let him toy with your emotions. Cause that’s what men did. What Jake excelled at. Avoiding commitment. Forming our relationship based on his own terms. Just like our last go ’round.
“You were right, but also wrong. I’m not running, but maybe I’ve been avoiding decisions. I’ve thought about Sari, a lot, but that next step is huge and changes absolutely everything. I’m sorry for not telling you she was here, but I expected to be part of that meeting when the time was right. It
