Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JESSICA
“I’m just sayin’…” Mrs. Miller waves her wine glass in the direction of our little group. “That man didn’t grovel nearly enough to justify her forgiving him.”
“Amen to that.” Mrs. Tyson nods decisively, the two of them clinking their glasses together. “After everything he put her through, he should have tried way harder.”
A few more women in our group nod their agreement.
“Remember, ladies”—Mrs. Miller pointedly glances at me and a few other younger members of our book club—“if he ain’t holding you like a drop of water on the top of his hand, he ain’t doing it right.”
“Is that the reason why you keep dumping the men you’re dating, Trish?” Mrs. Santiago asks, chuckling softly.
“I love variety, if you catch my drift.” Mrs. Miller wiggles her brows, smirking like the cat who ate the canary. “Besides, most men are too lazy to put in any real effort these days, and they love to nag. I’m not spending my best days listening to that!”
Her comment has me snorting. I swear there is nobody quite like Mrs. Miller.
“I so want to be her when I grow up,” Savannah whispers while the older ladies continue discussing faults of the men in their lives.
“Right? She’s something else.”
My phone buzzes, drawing my attention. I pull it out, checking the notification just in case it’s work, but instead, I find an unknown number.
My fingers tighten around my phone as my palms turn sweaty with anxiety. Is it Damien? Did he get a new number so he can continue texting me now that I’ve blocked him? I wouldn’t be surprised one bit. He’s petty like that.
Put on your big-girl panties, Jessy, and just get this over with.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I tap the message, blinking to clear my vision when the text pops onto my screen.
Unknown number:
Did you think about it?
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it sure wasn’t this.
How the hell does he still have my number? And now he finally decided to use it? After all this time? But why does the idea of it make my heart do a backflip inside my chest?
It’s ridiculous.
Locking my phone, I reach for my glass, draining what little is left inside. The bottle is empty, so I grab it and go toward the front to find a new one.
I worked at Reading Nook all through community college until I got my degree, and I’ve been a part of our book club for just as long, so this place is almost like a second home.
Exchanging the empty bottle for the full one, I grab the cork and open it.
Just then, my phone buzzes again against the counter with another incoming message.
Unknown number:
You know I can see you’ve read the message, right?
It’s Matthew, in case you don’t have my number.
My heart starts beating faster as I take my phone and unlock it. My fingers hover over the screen for just a moment before I type back.
Jessica:
Right. Because I get outlandish suggestions every day of the week, so I clearly don’t know who would come to me with that question.
Hitting the send button, I add his number to my contacts list.
Matthew:
You said it, not me.
But you never know, it could happen.
Tell me the truth, how many fake dating offers do you get every week?
And be honest.
I can’t help myself; the corner of my mouth tips upward in amusement.
Jessica:
Har-har…
Zero.
Matthew:
So I’m your first?
My smile falls as the memory from the past flashes in my mind.
The crescent moon shining in the dark sky.
A lone figure sitting on the bleachers. The scent of popcorn and grass in the air.
Those dark eyes staring into mine, wild and untamed.
The demons shining in them. The feel of callused fingers on my skin. Firm lips pressed against mine—
I close my eyes, pushing it back. I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t even notice I’m not alone anymore.
“You’ve been quiet tonight.”
My head snaps up at the sound of Becky’s voice, my heart thundering wildly. Locking my phone so she doesn’t see it by accident, I turn around, but I forgot I left the bottle on the edge of the counter, so my elbow connects with it, making it fall to the floor.
“Shit!” I grab the bottle quickly and stand it upright, but not before half of it spills. My eyes scan the counter for a rag; however, Becky is faster. She grabs it and crouches down, wiping away the red liquid from the hardwood floor. “Sorry, you surprised me.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Becky chuckles softly and stands up, her hazel eyes zeroing in on me. “Are you really okay?”
“I… Yeah, just a lot on my mind.”
My cheeks heat as the image of Matthew pops into my brain. I tilt my head slightly so my hair can cover my face.
Get a grip, Jessy, I chastise myself, but it’s easier said than done, and my longtime friend doesn’t miss it.
Becky eyes me quietly for a few moments. “You sure?”
I force out a small smile. “I’m sure.”
She tilts her head. “It’s not Damien, is it? Because if that asshole is still bugging you…”
“He’s not,” I assure her. “I’m fine, really. I just got lost in my thoughts for a little while there.”
“Is that wine coming?” Mrs. Miller calls out from the back, and I wholeheartedly embrace the out she unknowingly offers.
“Let’s go before she does something crazy.”
“You mean more crazy than usual?” Becky shakes her head, but there’s amusement shining in her eyes.
Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Tyson are loud, nosy as hell, and opinionated, but we’re never bored when the two of them are around, that’s for damn sure.
Grabbing the wine bottle and my glass, we make our way to the back where the rest of the ladies are still sitting. Becky starts pouring wine into empty glasses, and I slide back into my seat, curling my leg underneath me as I take a long sip.
“So we’ve been talking about what we’re reading next,” Mrs. Tyson informs us. “And we’ve come to a conclusion.”
Becky laughs at her statement. “Oh, did you now?”
“I mean, it does sound fun,” Mrs. Fernandez chirps, nodding in acknowledgment.
Becky’s eyes meet mine. “This will be good. Let’s hear it.”
“Something forbidden.” Mrs. Miller scooches to the edge of her seat, clearly excited by her idea. “Lots of spice. Hell, maybe they should hate each other too. Hate fucking is always fun. Somebody can even get tied up.”
I choke on a sip of my wine.
Seriously, you’d think I’d be immune to her crude comments by now, and yet she still manages to surprise me.
“He’s a bad boy, she’s a good girl…”
Mrs. Tyson’s comment has Mrs. Miller wiggling her brows. “Only if he calls her his good girl.”
The room bursts into laughter. Mrs. Santiago clinks her glass to Mrs. Miller’s. “Amen to that.”
“Did you ever think about writing a book yourself, Mrs. Miller?” Savannah asks, her cheeks suddenly quite pink. “You have very specific ideas.”
She waves her off. “Too much work, and anyway, I’d only be interested in the spicy parts.”
We stay for a little while longer, talking about writing and spicy scenes, before we call it a night.
Savannah, Rose, and I help Becky clean up the mess before we make our way out of the café.
Since I was running late, I had to park across the street.
Making sure the road is empty, I cross it, my fingers rummaging through my bag until I find my keys. The lights flash as I unlock my SUV, and I lift my gaze, reaching for the door handle when I see it.
I suck in a breath as I come to a sudden stop, my gaze fixed on my windshield.
Or more accurately, the pink flower tucked underneath it.
Goosebumps rise on my skin as I try to swallow the knot in my throat.
What in the ever-loving—
My fingers tighten around the doorhandle as my head snaps up. I can hear the wild beat of my heart echo inside my eardrums as I scan the area, searching for the familiar face, but nobody’s there.
The street is relatively quiet, with just a handful of people walking by. Pretty normal mid-week night in Bluebonnet Creek.
An uncomfortable shudder runs down my spine.
I lift my hand, rubbing my arm as I return my gaze to the flower.
It feels like it’s taunting me. Mocking me for thinking I have any control.
Forcing my fingers to relax, I slowly make my way toward the front of the car. I yank the rose out, the thorns that haven’t been removed jab into my flesh. Ignoring the stab of pain, I turn the envelope around and open it.
Red blotches stain the white paper from where I was pricked, but the words written in black marker are the ones that make my jaw flex.
You can fight it as much as you want, but you’ll realize soon enough we are meant to be together.
I press my lips into a tight line, feeling annoyance rising inside of me. My fingers clench around the note, crumpling the paper in my hand.
Fucking Damien.
This is getting completely out of hand.
Spotting the garbage can, I drop the note and the rose in it before slipping into my car and starting the engine.
My thoughts are still buzzing a hundred miles an hour as I try to process what my life has turned into.
What the hell does he want? And why? We’ve been miserable together for the last few months, and now suddenly he wants me to believe he can’t live without me?
Something isn’t adding up.
It can’t just be his pride, can it?
The moment the question pops into my head, I know just how stupid it is. Of course it can be pride. I remember how he got so pissed off at one of his coworkers once, and he was petty about it for weeks afterward.
Is that it? Is he trying to drive me nuts with these messages until I give in, only so he can turn the tables on me?
He sure was trying to be all sweet the other night.
Until I told him there was somebody else, then he lost it.
I’m not sure if Matthew coming around helped or not.
Damien was pissed, but he did end up backing off.
I think back to Matthew’s texts from earlier, followed by my best friend’s suggestion.
Maybe you should show him.
Damn Mae for getting in my head.
I should never have listened to her. Never uttered those words out loud.
It’s the most ridiculous idea ever.
I can’t do it.
Can I?