Jess
It’s an unbearably hot night for December, sweat beading at the base of my neck and dripping down my spine as I walk through downtown.
It doesn’t help that work was chaotic today, holiday weddings being of a special kind of demanding nature all their own.
I thought we would have a lull in the season until spring, but since Florida is about the only state not covered in snow right now, we’re a hot spot for winter weddings.
In a way, I appreciate the workload. Because while my heart and soul feel at peace for the first time in months, keeping busy has helped me avoid one unfortunate fact.
I have to tell Jarrett my decision.
Kade assured me there was no rush when he saw how anxious I was after our night reunited. He even offered to do it for me, to take the brunt of his brother’s pain so I wouldn’t have to. But it’s not his battle to fight.
I got myself into this mess.
I have to be the one to crawl out of the mud.
My heart beats loud and off rhythm in my ears as I approach the building where Jarrett’s office is. The building itself is owned by a bank, the floors above it occupying small and large businesses alike, everything from tech companies and law firms to advertising agencies and nonprofits.
I take a seat in the lobby at five after five, crossing my legs and balancing my hands in my lap as I wait.
I didn’t have the lady balls to ask him to meet me.
Hell, I didn’t even know today was going to be the day I’d break the news.
I just felt it. About halfway through the afternoon, my stomach flipped violently, chills breaking on my skin, and I knew it was time.
At five-thirty, I start to wonder if he’s already gone for the day. The holiday season seems to be a weird one for anyone working in a nine-to-five. It’s like the month of December allows permission to leave early, come in late, and take longer weekends without explanation.
But just as I’m thinking maybe I should text him, the elevator dings, and he walks off with a group of four other individuals.
Two of them are laughing at something on a phone screen while Jarrett and a middle-aged woman converse quietly, Jarrett speaking animatedly with his hands as she listens.
The first sight of him makes my stomach drop.
Dressed in relaxed navy slacks and a crisp cream button down, he looks every bit relaxed as he does business-ready.
His head is freshly shaved, beard trimmed neat, and though he’s smiling as he talks with the woman, I see the same evidence in him that I saw in Kade, that I’ve seen in myself, proof that sleep hasn’t come easy.
Dark bags under his eyes.
Slumped shoulders.
Strained concentration as he tries to listen to the woman’s response to whatever he’s said.
Emotion tries to strangle me as I stand, tries to tear me from where I stand on that marble floor and steer me outside before he can see me.
But I’m tired of running.
I’m ready to face him — even if I know it will hurt like hell.
He almost blows past me, and I’m fully prepared to chase him out into the streets. But just as his colleagues sweep through the revolving door, he stops dead in his tracks, stilling like a deer spotted by a hunter before he slowly, carefully, cranks his neck to look at me.
A myriad of emotions wash over him in a split second, everything from shock and delight to pain and fear. I watch each of them show themselves in his eyes, his lips, his stature before he takes a tentative step toward me.
The woman he was speaking to pops her head back to check on him, and he tells her to go on, that he’ll catch up. Her eyes skirt to me suspiciously before she leaves, and then it’s just the two of us in the vast, echoing lobby.
His eyes warm the closer he gets, one hand holding a messenger bag, while the other slips into the pocket of his slacks.
He takes his time trailing the length of me, no doubt noticing that while I wear the same pained expression as he does, I look better than I have since the day he showed back up at Palm South.
I think he knows already, before I can say a word.
“Hello,” he says after a long pause.
I offer a small, apologetic smile in return. “Hi.”
Jarrett sniffs, looking away from me and out the large windows before his gaze reluctantly travels back. “I think I need a drink for this.”
He doesn’t say another word before turning for the door, and I follow him outside, the two of us walking silently next to each other until we duck inside a small bar a block over.
It’s already filling up with patrons in business-casual dress, each of them eager for happy hour after a hellish day. Jarrett orders himself a rye whiskey neat, and I opt for a glass of red wine, knowing I won’t be drinking much of it so I can say what I need to with a clear head.
I wait until Jarrett takes the first sip of his drink, hissing through his teeth a bit when he does. And when he finally looks at me again, his dark eyes shielded under bent brows, he sighs.
“Well,” he says. “You’ve been ignoring me. I guess I should have known this was coming.”
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I… I’ve been a coward.”
He shakes his head once, frowning even more, but doesn’t say anything else.
“I don’t know where to start,” I admit.
“How about by telling me you’ve made your choice,” Jarrett says, and then his eyes hit mine again. “And that it’s not me.”
My nose stings. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He nods, looking away again, his eyes on the bottles lining the back of the bar.
“I loved you,” I start, not knowing where the right place is, just knowing I have to say something. “And… I love you still.”
His eyes shoot to mine.
“Maybe that will never change,” I confess. “I think… I think there’s a part of me that will always belong to you.”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing hard in this throat.
“But what we have,” I continue, circling the rim of my glass with my fingertip. “At least, what we have now… it’s purely physical. It’s chemistry and carnal need,” I say, meeting his gaze once more. “But it’s not real love. I think we both know that.”
“It could be.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But… I’m not sure what we have anymore, Jarrett — past that desire to fuck.”
The words slap him across the face, the sting visible to anyone around us.
“I don’t trust you,” I admit on a cracked voice. “And I don’t think you trust me, either. Do we want each other? Yes. But you broke me. And I broke you, too.”
Jarrett nods, taking a long pull of his whiskey.
He doesn’t say a word.
“I’ve done a lot of thinking in the past few months, a lot of self-reflection, a lot of thinking about why I feel the way I do, why this has been so hard for all of us.
” I tilt my head a bit. “It’s the strangest thing, thinking back to that time when we were together.
Because… so much of the time, we weren’t actually together. ”
Jarrett opens his mouth to argue, but I continue.
“Think about it. The first time we met, we fucked in a parking lot. Then, we found out you were the graduate assistant for one of my professors.” I wet my lips.
“I became your mouse. You wanted me because you couldn’t have me, because I was off-limits, and I loved to play that game, to make you want me, to parade other guys in front of you to drive you mad until you snapped. And it worked. You did snap, and then…”
“We dated.”
“Kind of,” I admit. “But think about it. For a long while, we played games. Mostly me, I admit that, but even when I showed up at your door and confessed that I had deeper feelings, I remember being so scared I nearly vomited on my way up to your place.”
His brows fold in at that.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I whisper. “Because I knew, even then, that you aren’t the kind of man who is kept by any woman.”
I know the look washing over him in this moment, that realization, that uncomfortable feeling of being viewed under a microscope and having someone peg you down in a way you didn’t even know yourself.
“When we were finally official, you left. And I don’t blame you for that,” I say quickly when I see him growing on the defense.
“You were going after your dream job, what you want in life, and you should. But that’s what I’m saying.
How much time did we really spend together, where it was truly us?
” I pause. “How much do you really know about me, other than the way I moan your name?”
“Jess…”
“You wanted me so badly when you couldn’t have me,” I whisper, tears blurring my vision of him. “And then found me an annoyance as soon as you did. When you were in New York, I felt like a stain on your shirt that you couldn’t get rid of, like a rash you so desperately wanted to hide.”
“I came to visit you,” he argues. “I took you and your friends out, I—”
“Once, Jarrett,” I interrupt. “One time. And we fought even then.”
Silence.
“The only reason you want me now is because you came back and I was taken. You get a rush over me being off-limits to you — especially when you can break those walls and prove that I still want you, despite the consequences.”
He swallows hard.
“It’s toxic — to both of us. And I won’t do it. I refuse to participate any longer.”
Jarrett’s shoulders slump, and he shakes his head, an argument building on his lips.
“If you wouldn’t have had to come back to Florida for work,” I say, reaching over to squeeze his forearm and make him look at me. “You never would have thought of me again.”
“I thought of you every day.”
His words kick me in the chest.
“Maybe so,” I say softly. “But you don’t love me. You love the chase.”
His jaw tics, and he shakes his head, but tears his gaze away from me, unable to stare the truth in the eyes.
“I want happiness for you,” I say after a long while. “I do. You are such a—”
“If you say great guy, I swear to God, I’m pitching myself off the first rooftop I can find.”
I swallow, picking at my nail polish with my eyes on my hands. “I’m sorry.”