Jess
This son-of-a-bitch.
This crooked-dick, turtle-loving, lying son-of-a-bitch.
Swiping another handful of nuts out of the bar bowl, I crunch them a little too aggressively, staring across Ralph’s at Greg.
Every time he laughs, flashing that ridiculously beautiful smile of his, I imagine what he’d look like if I slammed his face into the bar and he lost a few of those pretty teeth.
It may be borderline psycho bitch how long I’ve been here, at the other end of the bar, angrily eating bar nuts and drinking my beer and wondering when this son-of-a-bitch is going to look up and realize that the girl he bailed on is at the same place he is.
This guy owes me a drink and a mind-blowing orgasm after leaving me with a serious case of the lady blue balls last week, and that was all supposed to be rectified tonight.
Except, he was “sick,” and had to bail last minute.
I check for signs of illness as he pounds back another shot with a group of his fraternity brothers.
He doesn’t look sweaty, or clammy, and by the way he’s drinking, I’d say there’s no chance in hell that he has a stomachache.
Nope, this son-of-a-bitch looks healthy as can be, and he also looks like he’s not the least bit bothered that he lied to me less than an hour ago, or that he’s left my vulva a throbbing violet for over a week now.
Bastard.
For the past five minutes, I’ve been trying to convince myself that it isn’t worth saying anything. So what, he blew me off? Point taken. He’s not interested. No big deal, moving forward, on to the next poor guy.
But for some reason, I can’t let it go.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t been bailed on since I sprouted boobs sophomore year of high school, or maybe it’s because I’m particularly sensitive after being dumped by Jarett, or hell — maybe it’s just because I’m three days away from being visited by the crimson tide.
Regardless, I can’t seem to find the common sense or couth to keep my ass planted or get up only long enough to get the hell out of this bar.
Nope, instead, I swallow down a few more nuts, slam back the rest of my beer, and storm toward the group of Omega Chis.
They’re all crowded together around a high-top table, playing various drinking games, and I have to shove a few of the smaller ones aside to reach Greg. When I do, I thrust my finger into his shoulder with a hard poke, hanging my hands on my hips as he turns around to face me.
His eyebrows are bent together at first, as if he doesn’t realize who I am, and then he smiles, dimple and all. “Oh, hey, Jess.”
Oh, hey, Jess?
This son-of-a-bitch.
“Didn’t realize they had doctors at Ralph’s now,” I deadpan. “Looks like they work fast, too, because you don’t seem sick at all. It’s a miracle!”
I throw my hands up at that last part, not even bothering to hide my flair for the dramatic. Greg’s brothers all watch me before giving each other wide-eyed looks. They go back to drinking their beers, albeit a bit uncomfortably, as Greg crosses his arms over his chest.
“What’s your deal?”
“What’s my deal?” I repeat incredulously. “We were supposed to go out tonight. We had a date. You literally told me less than an hour ago that you were sick, and then I find you here drinking like a frat boy.”
“I am a frat boy.”
I narrow my eyes.
“I don’t get what the big deal is. I had a change of plans.”
“You lied to me, asshole.”
“And?” he asks, like I don’t have a point. “Like you’ve never lied to get out of a date with a dude before? Come on, J-Love. I know about your reputation.”
At that, a few of his brothers let out low oooohs and my jaw pops open. I clamp it shut quickly, face heating with rage.
Two can play this game, buddy.
“Oh, you’ve heard about my reputation, huh? Well, I wish I would have heard about yours. If I’d have known you have a dick that leans west and doesn’t get the job done, I could have saved myself the trouble.”
Greg’s eyes widen, his hand reaching out to wrap around my wrist and drag me away from the table as his brothers burst into a fit of laughter. They’re still cracking jokes when Greg pulls me into the corner near the DJ booth, his expression cold as stone.
“Not cool.”
“Yeah? Well, neither is you bailing on me. What the fuck, Greg? You should have just told me you had other plans.”
“Why are you acting like you’re my girlfriend?”
His question stops me short, and I open my mouth to pop back at him but nothing leaves my lips.
“We met when you had a boyfriend, Jess,” he says, twisting the knife more.
“And we’ve never had that talk. Yeah, we hooked up a few times, we’ve had some fun, but honestly, I thought we were just friends.
” He shrugs. “Look, I’m sorry I lied to you about tonight or whatever, but I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t expect anything from you, either. ”
“We text every day,” I finally say, though I know the argument is weak before I even give it. “And we talk about shit. And bang. How are we not in a relationship status where you at least owe me the truth if you bail on me?”
“That’s not what I’m looking for,” Greg says easily.
“I thought it was a kind of see ya when I see ya thing. I have fun with you, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want a relationship.
” He cocks one brow, lips pulling to the side.
“And from the sounds of it, you shouldn’t be in one — at least, not right now. ”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s just cut the shit. I was a distraction for you, which I was fine with, since I’m not looking for anything, anyway. But somewhere along the way, you started lying to yourself, saying I was what you wanted when you know that’s not true. We have fun, but we’re not relationship material.”
I swallow, crossing my arms.
“And you’re not over Jarrett.”
He says the words so easily, like they won’t hit me like rusty scissors straight to the heart.
“Which is fine,” he continues. “I’m not saying you all of a sudden should be. But, take the time to figure that shit out. If you did, I think you’d realize how crazy you’re acting right now.”
My nostrils flare, fists clenching as I open my mouth to show this son-of-a-bitch just how crazy I can be, but he holds up his hands quickly to calm me.
“I didn’t mean that disrespectfully, okay? You’re a cool girl, and that’s the only reason I used that verbiage, because I know that if the real you — the you I met here last Thanksgiving — was here, she’d tell you the same thing. You’re not yourself right now.”
“Are you telling me to eat a fucking Snickers bar?”
He laughs, reaching out to pull me into a hug. I’m still stiff in his arms, my own crossed over my chest, but as he chuckles again, I soften.
“Just take a breath, okay?”
I sigh, groaning as I lean into him a little more. For a moment, he just holds me, and when he lets me go, my desire to punch him in the groin has decreased by at least forty percent.
“You’re still a dick,” I say, pointing at him with my index finger. “But, you’re not entirely wrong. We never had any kind of talk about what we expected out of each other, and I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“You shouldn’t have, but I also shouldn’t have lied. So, for that, I’m sorry.”
I nod, still grumpy as I wave him off. “Go take shots and be a frat boy.”
Greg gives me another hug and ruffles my hair like a stupid older brother before he rejoins his brothers, and I pay my tab quietly, mood sinking by the second. When I’m finally in a cab heading back toward the sorority house, I sigh, staring out the window and digesting Greg’s words.
That son-of-a-bitch was right.
And I hate it.
Thumbing through the pictures my phone, I hover over one of me and Jarrett, taken in bed at the hotel he booked when he came to visit last semester.
I trace the lines of his smile, the stubble on his jaw, the ink splayed across his bicep where he cradles his head on the pillow.
And then there’s me — my smile genuine and wide, my eyes tired but sated. I miss that girl.
I miss that boy even more.
I click the side button on my phone when we pull up to the house, making the screen go dark as I pay the driver and climb out of the car. My mind is still racing as I climb the stairs, crawling into my bed as quietly as I can so as not to wake Skyler.
I thought using Greg as a distraction would help, that it would be part of my healing, but the truth is I wasn’t using him to distract me — I was trying to use him to replace Jarrett.
And that’s impossible to do.
I need to move on — really move on — and that starts with focusing on me.
So, starting tomorrow, that’s exactly what I plan to do.