Chapter 9
We’re lying in Jason’s bed watching one of the Bond movies; it’s nice lying together.
About twenty minutes in, he’s kissing my neck and I find myself still focused on the movie.
This is his signature move. If I don’t seize the opportunity of half-assed foreplay now, I’ll end up watching James Bond get my birthday sex—while I celebrate at home with a cupcake and a vibrator.
“You should take off that dress,” he whispers. “Grab a condom.”
They’re in the drawer of the nightstand on my side. I roll over while he nudges down his boxers and strokes his dick.
My back stiffens when I grab the box—it’s empty.
The fuck?
It was at least half full the last time we had sex.
The voice that comes out of my mouth sounds hollow. “Why are you out of condoms?”
“Huh?” He keeps jacking off as if nothing’s wrong. “I dunno. Who cares, you’re on birth control, right?”
“Jason, the box is empty. There were at least a dozen in here last time we had sex. Where did they go?”
He’s clearly used them, and not with me. Sure, my schedule has been crazy lately, and we haven’t had a ton of time together, but we agreed to be exclusive.
He pauses and shrugs. “I dunno. Are you sure the box didn’t just tip over?”
My fingers probe the empty drawer. “No, you are out.”
“Well, I didn’t use them!”
“So, you just threw away all of our condoms, then?” He lives alone, it’s not like a roommate walked in and took them.
“Well, no, but—”
“Are you sleeping with other people?” I ask.
“Of course not!”
I blink at him. “Then where did they go?”
“I don’t fucking know!”
Is this really happening?
Burying my face in my palms, I push back the tears, then scoot off the bed and straighten my dress. “I want you to drive me home.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes!” I shout at him. He’s too good at lying. His surprise is almost genuine, except it doesn’t explain the missing condoms. I can’t ignore the facts sitting right in front of me.
The ride to my house is completely silent. I spared a glance at him once, and he looked even more mad than I was, as if this is all my fault and I’m being an inconvenience. Unreal. I’m done. Clearly I judged this situation all wrong.
Mentally, I catalog all the items I might have left at Jason’s house, and thankfully, it’s nothing important because I’m never going back. My bottom lip trembles. Twenty-six sucks.
As soon as he pulls into my driveway, I pop the door handle and out topples a pink velvet scrunchie. That’s definitely not mine. I crouch down, pick it up, and stare at the object that doesn’t belong to me.
I look him right in the eye . . . and I don’t see myself. Logan was right, I’ve been chasing the version of him I want to see, but that’s not who he is.
The scrunchie bounces off his chest when I hurl it at him. “We’re done,” I say calmly, then slam the car door and march toward the back entrance of my house.
“Fine, fuck you, then!” His shout is muffled through the windshield. “Enjoy your fucking necklace!”
When I get inside, I whip the door closed and toss my purse on the floor, sending its contents careening across the tile into the kitchen—including the small black box from Logan.
My arms drop to my sides. Shit. I didn’t even open his gift yet. I was so excited about Dad’s letter I forgot about the present.
I remove my heels where I stand, then slump onto the floor next to the gift, my back slouching against the kitchen cupboards as I pick the box up off the floor.
The bow unravels when I tug on the loose ribbon, and I gingerly pry the rectangular lid off; it tumbles from my fingers, hitting the floor with a hollow thunk. The air is sucked from my lungs all at once. I stare for a long while, unable to move.
With careful hands, I remove the stack of tarot cards from the box.
I flip through them one at a time; each has been painted with a piece of Dad’s artwork that’s fitting to the card. Every single card—all seventy-eight—hand-painted by Logan, richly detailed with bold colors and meticulous brushstrokes. I’m speechless.
This must have taken him months. How did he even get all the artwork? He must have gone through hundreds of pages of flash in my dad’s old catalogs. Some of these we only saw for the first time the other day!
This is unbelievable.
Confusing feelings or not, the only person I want to see right now is him.
My phone sits a couple feet away, where it landed after throwing my purse. I crawl over to it and check the time. It’s past eight, which means he should be off work by now. I tap out a text message.
Wanna come over for ice cream?
Logan
Always.