Chapter Twenty-Three
Judah felt sick to his stomach as he headed back into his apartment, and more than anything, he wanted to blame it on having too many s’mores.
He hated that he knew better.
He hated that he knew there was only one person in the world capable of making him feel like his entire body was turning itself inside out.
Judah Klein was never unprepared. He planned, he practiced, and—that one week before Pesach aside—he did everything exactly by the book.
But he was not prepared to see Arielle Becker looking knockout beautiful at that party, her hair gleaming in the evening sunshine.
He definitely wasn’t prepared for the incredibly awkward ride home, tension so thick you could choke on it despite Liana’s best efforts to fill the silence.
And he wasn’t remotely prepared to confront how neither time nor distance had diminished his attraction to her in the slightest.
He grabbed a beer from his fridge and slumped down on the couch, scrubbing his face.
“What the hell did you do to me?” he muttered as he reached into the coffee table drawer for a coaster.
It’d been five weeks since the night she slept in this very apartment, and still, his bed felt emptier without her.
Not to mention the image of her lying there, completely naked, all soft curves and wild hair spread out for him …
it was impossible to escape, tattooed on the inside of his eyelids.
At the time, he’d been sincere that no part of it felt like a mistake, and it was still impossible to regret their time together.
But he was trying so hard to move on, and she’d just wrecked five weeks of progress without even trying.
He couldn’t have called her after Havdalah from the hotel in Playa del Carmen; he and Mira would’ve had no shot if he’d heard Arielle’s throaty, melodious voice over the phone.
It was for the best, for both of them. But whether or not Ari saw it that way, she was still pissed—hated him, maybe—and it made him sick to his stomach.
None of this was right.
Because if Judah were honest with himself, a call from Arielle could still wreck him and Mira in a heartbeat if she wanted it to.
Seeing her tonight, all he wanted was to hear her laugh again, to go home together to curl up on the couch and watch stupid shows about stupid homes.
He wanted to hear about what books she was working on, and how Liana was driving her nuts with wedding planning, and how ridiculous she thought the newest waves of videos from his fandom were.
He had known he’d miss her body—that full mouth and clever tongue, the way her whole torso bowed when he touched her just right. But it was the way he found himself missing everything else that felt like a punch to the gut.
And even though she didn’t want him, the knowledge of how badly he wanted her, how much he’d throw away for her, meant that continuing to date Mira would make him an asshole. She deserved better, and he wasn’t better.
He was tired of trying to be better.
And he really, really missed the girl who’d made him feel great exactly how he was.
He closed his eyes, finished his beer, and pulled out his phone.
“Hey, you.” Mira smiled as she swung open the door to reveal Judah standing behind it, then stood on her toes to give him a kiss.
He was torn between whether to step back and avoid it or simply lean in and deal with the consequences later, but in the end he did neither, standing like a stone while her lips brushed his.
Mira didn’t miss it, shrinking back as if she’d been waiting for this day. “Everything okay?” she asked, even though he could tell from her wobbly smile that she knew it wasn’t. “How was the party?”
He shook his head. She was such a nice girl. How could he do this to such a nice girl? Over another girl who didn’t even want him? “I’m sorry, Mira. I really wanted to be the right guy for you. But you deserve so much better than me.”
She wrapped her thin arms around her small frame, setting her jaw as if she was trying not to cry. “Did you do something at that party?”
“Of course not,” he said, hating the way it felt like a lie even though it wasn’t.
“It just had me thinking, and this—I don’t think there’s a future here.
Between us, I mean. I don’t want to waste your time.
” It was the best he could offer. He’d wanted to practice a speech, tried on the way over, but what was there really to say?
Mira sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me guess. By any chance, was Arielle Becker there?”
The mention of Ari’s name froze Judah in his tracks. “Why would you even ask that?”
“Well, it was definitely a little suspicious that she was the only person on the planet who seemed to know you weren’t shomer,” she said frostily.
“And you think I didn’t notice the way you kept watching the door at Akiva’s, like you were waiting for her to show up?
And then again when you walked me down to her apartment? ”
He opened his mouth to deny it but stopped. Just because he hadn’t realized he was doing it didn’t mean he hadn’t.
“God, I should’ve known from the minute you asked about her on Pesach, but I couldn’t even imagine a world where you and she…” Mira shook her head sadly. “Is it about—I mean, is this because she’ll do stuff you think I won’t? I know her reputation. I mean, everyone does, in case you couldn’t tell.”
There was no edge to her words, and Judah couldn’t tell whether she was trying to hurt him or if she was just working this all out in her head, like solving a math problem that had no comprehensible answer to the layperson.
But he didn’t care about Arielle’s past; he only cared what she wanted now and whether that could include him.
“Mira.”
“Is that it?” Mira yanked up the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, leaving her in a chaste black bra molded to her small breasts.
“Is this what you want? Is it that simple?” She shoved down her skirt without any hesitation, and Judah dug his nails into his palms to avoid wincing.
“You can have whatever you want, Judah. All you had to do was ask.”
She reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, and finally, he held up a hand. “Mira, don’t. Please. I really am sorry—you have no idea how sorry. You are such a great girl, and—”
“Don’t.” She snatched up her skirt from the floor and used it to cover herself like a shield.
“Don’t give me the ‘great girl’ speech. Just tell me what it is you want.
Let me at least try. Don’t you want to at least try?
I mean, Judah—” Her voice broke off, and his heart ached as a tear rolled down her cheek.
“God, you didn’t even tell me you were unhappy.
Shouldn’t I get a chance to make you happy? ”
Judah had never felt lower than he did at that moment. “I’m so sorry, Mira,” he said again, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I know ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ is a horrendous cliché, but—”
“I can’t even believe you just said that.” Her shining eyes flashed with anger, and to Judah’s relief, she yanked her skirt on. “You pretend to be this ‘Nice Jewish Boy,’ but you’re not. You’re a hypocrite and a liar, and you want a girl with bigger boobs. Just own it.”
Everything she was saying was technically true, but when he’d had this conversation with Ari, it’d felt …
different. As if he could finally breathe.
There, with Mira, he just felt like a sinner, like dirt, like he probably should’ve been feeling the entire time.
“You’re right,” he said to Mira. “I’m not the ‘Nice Jewish Boy’ you’re looking for.
And I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.
But it really isn’t about you, or your…” He waved a hand in the general direction of her chest. “You’re beautiful, Mira, and you’re going to make the right guy so, so happy someday.
I’m just not that guy. I’m not sure I’m the guy for anyone. ”
“What does that even mean?”
Again, his brain flashed back to that first car ride with Ari, the one where he’d spilled his guts about his (usual) lack of sexual attraction and how shockingly easy it had ended up being to talk to her about it.
And in that moment, as Mira looked at him, confused and expectant, he knew he’d never find the right words for her.
Instead, he forced himself to meet her tearful gaze, apologized one last time, and let himself out.