Chapter 34 #4
“Jules, he likes you!” Mila declares. Because I still don’t fully grasp it, she adds, “He likes likes you. The only person I’ve seen him do this kind of things for was Los Angeles Rebecca and they almost got married.”
“Yeah, then she ran off to work on a cruise ship so she could stay far enough to recover from the trauma.”
Mila studies me, the soggy French fry hanging from her fingers, covered in grease, but she’s doesn’t notice cause she’s too busy analyzing me. Piecing the puzzle together. Finally realizing Jasper and I did much more than sleep together this week. We went on a date. We… talked.
And it’s true. We talked. About things I never expected to talk about with a guy I supposedly hate. Hated. Not sure anymore.
“They were awful together, Jules,” Mila says. “Every time we went to Los Angeles, you could feel the tension from across the room. At some point, all she did was criticized him.”
“All I do is criticize him,” I admit.
“No, you just tease him. It’s different. With her, he was always walking on eggshells, because everything was an excuse for another fight. He was exhausted and unhappy, and somehow she always made it seem like it was his fault. When he decided to leave, he still believed it was.”
“That part he didn’t tell me,” I confess.
“He didn’t tell you anything bad about his relationship?” Mila asks, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised.
I can read her expression before I even ask. Jasper deliberately left out a lot of details, instead acting like a guy and telling me all those things they usually say to get you to like them. That his ex was crazy, that they fought all the time or whatever. He took all the responsibility himself.
“Fucking hell,” I curse under my breath, only then realizing I’m copying his words.
Ten days. Ten days, and I only now realize how much he’s already part of my life. His expressions, the way he talks… Ten days, and he’s already entrenched in me.
His voice is already inside my head. I don’t know if it will ever leave.
I look at Mila with a wary expression.
“Have you been pretending to hate him all this time just to make me feel better?”
Mila laughs.
“Nope. I hate all of Robbie’s friends,” she says. “Well, except Tony. But, if you think about it, Jasper isn’t that bad. And he’s hot as hell, so all of this makes total sense. I can’t wait for us to get past the dramatic stuff and start gossiping about the sex part.”
I snort a laugh, which she returns with a wicked grin. Mila being Mila.
“Do you think I screwed up?” I ask, already fearing the answer.
“Kinda,” she says, then shrugs. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. But that goes for him too. We all did a lot of things we regret at that party.”
I know. I remember the amount of vomit I had to clean from her dress while she danced the Macarena with the Texas tycoons.
“I think Fred McCall is going to kill Robbie just to make you his next wife.”
“Not a chance,” Mila says, waving it off. “I’m way too old for him. The last Mrs. McCall was twenty five when he filed for divorce.”
We laugh together for a moment, and then silence settles over the room. Mila leans back over the pillows, eyes on my half-packed, half-messy suitcase.
“Wait until tomorrow, Jules, and we’ll head home together.”
I can’t. Tony and Cordelia are flying to Tulum after this, and everyone knows who the two remaining seats on Mila’s private jet are for.
“I can’t take the same flight as him, Mila,” I say, forgetting to mention the real reason.
I made a promise after all. No matter the drama, it’s a promise I intend to keep.
Mila nods, then hugs me tightly, thanking me for everything, saying she loves me about fifteen times before finally letting go.
I wait until everyone is at the pool, enjoying the barbecue, with Uncle Henry and Gus running the grill at the final event of the week, one I’m not in any condition to participate in.
I change clothes, organize my bags, then stop by the room across the hall to leave my keys on the bed.
The keychain is a miniature Cincinnati Bengals jersey, number 9, so I know he’ll recognize it as mine. I just hope he understands why.
And sees it as a small peace offering. At least that. Peace and nothing else.
Only then I pull out the little card I still have in my back pocket and call Guillermo.
“Rúlie!” he exclaims, smiling like we’re old friends. “Where are we going?”
“To the airport,” I answer as he loads my bags into the dusty trunk, making a loud clunking sound of two pieces of metal struggling to fit together as he closes the dented lid.
My mind still clings to the trauma, so I feel compelled to ask, “There isn’t a strip club called The Airport, is there?”
Guillermo throws his head back with a laugh.
“Of course there is. They dress like flight attendants and do the show with a lot of turbulencia.”
My eyes widen in shock. But he just opens the passenger door calmly, the sound of the hinges reminding me that no one’s oiled them since 1990, and gestures for me to get in.
“But I’m not taking you there, Rúlie. I’m taking you home.”
I let out a small, sad smile, mixed with pure gratitude.
“Thank you, Guillermo. I really need to go there now.”