Just Jilted

by Lila James

  “No,” I said. “Yes. Sort of. Listen, I really should head out. But thanks again for the invite.”

  “Adrian!” Jackson’s loud voice seemed to carry across the entire lobby.

  I stifled a groan as he strode across the lobby, followed by the stick-thin brunette. He reached us, giving Mom and the Zygote a dazzling smile before looking down at me, waiting to be introduced.

  “I’m Jackson Taylor,” he said finally, before I could gather my wits enough to properly speak. “Adrian and I are working on an article together for her magazine. And you are … ?”

  “Laurence Beauvais,” the Zygote said, looking annoyingly awed as he took Jackson’s hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve read your book. So did some friends of mine. You helped them get through a really bad breakup. Your book did, I mean.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful,” Jackson said. “And who is this lovely woman? Let me guess. Adrian’s younger sister.”

  “Oh, please,” Mom said, looking delighted. “I’m Marilyn Lexley. Adrian’s mother.”

  “I never would have guessed it. I see where Adrian gets her looks,” Jackson said, taking Mom’s hand and kissing it.

  Jackson was quite adept at turning on the charm. I glanced at his date, who looked perturbed at being ignored.

  “I’m Adrian Lexley,” I said, moving past Jackson and extending my hand to her.

  “Katerina,” the woman replied, her smile barely reaching her eyes as she took my hand.

  “Katerina?” I asked, raising my eyebrows jokingly. “No last name?”

  “No,” she returned, not smiling. “I’m a singer.”

  “Oh. Like Madonna. Or Cher. I get it,” I said, determined to play nice.

  “No. Like Katerina.”

  “I see.”

  It was obvious that Katerina disliked me on sight.

  “Would you two like to join us? We’re meeting a bunch of people from the cast and crew uptown for dinner and drinks,” the Zygote asked.

  “That sounds great,” Jackson said, ignoring the look of dismay on Katerina’s face.

  “I’m actually going to head home,” I said.

  “Nonsense, Adrian. I never get to see you,” Mom protested. Like the Zygote, her eyes were also glued to Jackson’s handsome face. I’m surprised they even noticed that I was there.

  “How about we meet for brunch tomorrow?” I asked.

  “I won’t be in the city tomorrow. Come with us, Adrian. I insist,” Mom said, finally tearing her gaze away from Jackson’s smiling face to my tense one.

  Everyone turned pleasant (well, with the exception of Just Katerina) and expectant gazes toward me. I hadn’t felt this much on-the-spot pressure to make a decision since Marcus proposed to me in front of all his coworkers. I had no choice.

  “I’ll stop by,” I said with a forced smile.

  “Great,” Mom beamed, returning her focus to Jackson. “You and Katerina can share a cab with us.”

  “I’m actually tired, honey,” Katerina pouted, placing her manicured nails—which reminded me of claws—on Jackson’s arm. “Do you mind if we call it a night?”

  I almost laughed out loud as both Mom and the Zygote’s faces fell. They seemed to think that Jackson was some big movie star instead of the author of an overrated book.

  “How about I meet you later? I won’t be long,” Jackson said, squeezing Katerina’s claws. Katerina did not look happy at all, her gaze landing on me for a long moment. Finally, she nodded.

  Twenty minutes later, I was seated in the backseat of a cab, squished between Mom and Jackson. I tried hard to not visibly react to Jackson’s closeness, but his well-muscled thigh kept brushing against mine, and he smelled way too good for a man. In the front seat, Laurence was twisted back in his seat, engaging in nonstop conversation with Jackson.

  “And the chapter about letting go. Wow. That was fantastic,” he gushed. “I read it twice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I can’t believe I’m riding in a cab with the Jackson Taylor. Um, do you mind if I call a couple of my friends and tell them that I’m—no, never mind. That’s weird. But it would be great if you signed something. You know. For my friend.”

  “Of course,” Jackson replied, smiling.

  “Are things serious with Katerina, Jackson? I hope you don’t mind the personal question,” Mom asked, peering past me at Jackson.

  “Mom!”

  Mom ignored me. In Jackson’s charismatic presence, I was the Invisible Woman.

  “Well, we’ve just started seeing each other,” Jackson hedged.

  “Oh. Because Adrian’s single.”

  “Oh my God, Mom, I’m sitting right here,” I said, horrified.

  “Yes, I know,” Jackson said, ignoring my outburst. I really was the Invisible Woman. “But she’s hardly available. To anyone.”

  I glared at him. What the hell was that supposed to mean? I opened my mouth to make an angry retort just as we pulled up to the restaurant. Jackson got out, demurely taking my hand and helping me out of the cab. He did the same to Mom, who giggled like a schoolgirl.

  “Such a gentleman,” Mom cooed, giving me a pointed look. I ignored her, continuing to glower at Jackson as we headed after Mom and Laurence into the restaurant.

  “What was that supposed to mean?” I hissed at him as Laurence led us to a table in the back. “I’m available. I’m dating someone, remember? Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “You’re right. Of course,” Jackson said, but I saw the mocking glint in his eyes.

  “You weren’t kidding!” a lanky man shrieked as he saw Jackson walk toward the back table. Laurence gave Jackson an apologetic look, but Jackson waved it off.

  “Dude, I have your book! Like, in my satchel! Want to sit here? Would you mind signing my book?”

  Jackson was more popular than I thought. He held court at the end of the table with Laurence and his actor friends, who fawned over him. Mom and I ate at the other end of the table. Mom, however, stared at Jackson for so long that I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Mom, he’s not a Greek god. He’s a hack writer who got popular off one book.”

  “Hmm? What did you say, sweetheart?” Mom asked, turning to face me.

  “Nothing. I’m invisible,” I said, digging into my pasta.

  “He’s so good-looking, sweetie. He doesn’t look like a writer at all. More like an actor or something. A lot more handsome than Marcus, if you ask me. I don’t understand why you aren’t dating him. He keeps looking over here.”

  “That’s because you’re staring at him.”

  “No, he’s definitely looking at you. And what did he mean by you not being available?”

  “No idea. But my dating life is none of his business. We’re just working on this article together. That’s all.”

  “Are you still pining over Marcus?”

  “Of course not,” I said as Mom raised her eyebrows. “Marcus most certainly isn’t pining over me. He’s dating a supermodel.”

  “Oh God, you are still pining over him. Adrian, I cannot emphasize—”

  “And I cannot emphasize how much I am not going to talk about this,” I interrupted. “And what is going on with you? That dress? Being all flirty with the Zygote?”

  “His name is Laurence.”

  “Whatever,” I continued. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

  “I’m acting like I’m happy,” Mom barked, glaring at me. “I haven’t been in the best spirits since the divorce. Unlike your father, it took me some time to start dating again. And now that I’m dating someone I like, I’m actually feeling happy again. I’m sorry if you have a problem with that.”

  “Mom, please. That’s not what I meant at all.”

  “Adrian, the truth is that you can’t recognize happiness in others because you’ve been so wrapped up in your own unhappiness over Marcus.”

  Ouch. I leaned back in my chair, trying to ignore the sting of tears pricking the back of my eyelids. Mom’s f
ace softened, and she reached out to touch my hand.

  “I’m sorry, Adrian. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Just let Marcus go, OK? Life’s too short.”

  “I have let Marcus go,” I snapped, rubbing at my eyes.

  “I don’t think you have, sweetheart.”

  Before I could reply, Laurence interrupted us.

  “Marilyn!” Laurence called. “We’re taking pictures! Oh, you can come, too, Adrian!”

  “I’m eating,” I said shortly. I lowered my voice and just for Mom’s ears, I added, “And I’m too busy pining over my ex-fiancé.”

  “Take a picture, young lady,” Mom said in a tone that had frightened me when I was a little girl. Actually, it still frightened me.

  And so I was forced to take pictures with King Jackson, Laurence, Mom, and a bunch of Laurence’s zany actor friends, who enjoyed an array of crazy poses. When the ordeal was finally over, I politely informed the crowd that I needed to head out to get some shut-eye. As I embraced Mom goodbye, she urged me to think about what she’d said.

  “I don’t need to,” I said, reaching for my purse.

  “Are you heading downtown?” Jackson asked, appearing out of nowhere. “Want to share a cab?”

  “Your fans are letting you leave already?”

  “Ha ha. I think they just had a bit too much to drink. I just played along. Come on. Let’s share a cab.”

  Before I could protest, Jackson led me out of the restaurant to the street and hailed us a cab. Once inside the cab, I made sure to scoot as far away from him as possible without being too obvious.

  “Heated discussion with your mother?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “I noticed you and your mom were kind of having an argument.”

  How had he noticed when he was surrounded by a crowd of worshippers? Had he seen me blink back tears as well?

  “She was just being nosy. She thinks I’m not over my ex.”

  I instantly regretted bringing up Marcus, and I hoped that Jackson would drop the subject entirely. No such luck.

  “How could you be? What happened between the two of you was pretty traumatic.”

  “I’m—this is—” I began, feeling even more flustered. But I stopped myself. I was not going to discuss Marcus with Jackson. “That’s—”

  “None of my business. Right. I understand.”

  “Exactly,” I said, surprised by his willingness to drop it so quickly.

  As I mulled over Jackson’s subtle prying into my feelings for my ex, the cab pulled up to Liz’s apartment building. Jackson leaned across me to push the cab door open. And what happened next I would analyze for nights to come.

  I turned my head to thank him and say good night. I was surprised to find that his face was incredibly close to mine. Time seemed to slow as my eyes (of their own accord, I swear) slid down to his mouth, and I couldn’t help but lean forward, ever so slightly, until our lips were less than an inch apart …

  “Good night,” Jackson said abruptly, leaning away from me after he pushed the cab door open. I flushed, turning away from him.

  “Night,” I whispered, getting out of the cab.

  It pulled away and I watched it disappear downtown, still trying to come back down to earth. I lightly touched my lips. I wondered if I had imagined that intimate moment. If I hadn’t, I wondered if I was watching it slip away forever in that cab.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Theory of Everything

  After my moment in the cab with Jackson, I decided it was time to try a new personal theory: the theory of everything. I should give everything a shot because I never knew what the outcome might be. So when Douglas called me the next day, I decided that I would take him as something more seriously than just a rebound.

  My reasoning did come from the desperate need to put the moment with Jackson behind me. And what if it wasn’t really a moment at all? He’d just innocently leaned toward me to push open the cab door, and I moved toward him like a starved woman. Besides, if he hadn’t been looking at me like that, his mouth hadn’t looked so inviting, he wasn’t so infuriatingly handsome, he hadn’t smelled so good, and his lips hadn’t come so damn close to mine, then the “moment” never would have occurred.

  But I stopped myself from going farther down that mental road. He was the one who leaned back, who stopped what could have happened. And I was glad he did. I was. Now I could focus on Douglas. And I wanted to focus on Douglas. I really did. I did.

  I suggested a restaurant in SoHo for our next date. And this time, there would be no sex. We were going to get to know each other properly.

  But I had to remind Douglas of this. As soon as we settled into the cab on the way to the restaurant, he put his hand under my shirt and leaned in to stick his tongue down my throat.

  “Douglas,” I said, taking his hand out of my shirt. “I’d like for us to just talk tonight.”

  “Talk?” Douglas asked, baffled, as if I had said something in another language.

  “Yes. Talk.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry,” Douglas muttered, leaning back and looking embarrassed. “I’ll be the perfect gentleman tonight. Promise. Can I say one thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “That top you’re wearing. It’s really distracting,” he said, his gaze falling down to the red halter I was wearing (another post-breakup impulse buy). “Can you wear that cover up you brought?”

  “Yes,” I said, grinning as I put on my wrap. I tried to give him an admonishing look, but I have to admit I was flattered. My ego was still a bit shattered after Jackson’s rejection the previous night.

  I’m not a fan of dinner dates, though I do believe that on the hierarchy of dates, they are more serious due to their forced one-on-one nature. Before my ill-fated relationship with Marcus, I’d only had a scant few. They reminded me too much of job interviews, albeit in a cozier setting. But all of the other elements were there: the whole face-to-face thing, the question and answer session, the decision at the end of the meal as to whether or not you’ve done well enough to either proceed to the next interview (date) or you’ve gotten the job (potential exclusivity).

  But my dinner date with Douglas wasn’t at all like an interview. Especially considering that we’d already seen each other naked and I was already aware of Douglas’s odd speech patterns while he was asleep. It didn’t get off to the best start, as we both read our menus and pondered what to say to begin our conversation. And I did miss Marcus a little during this silence because Marcus and I had become so comfortable with each other that there really were no awkward silences between us. We never felt compelled to fill them with fillers such as:

  “Crazy weather we’ve been having, huh?”

  “Yep. Crazy.”

  Or:

  “Traffic was crazy today, wasn’t it?”

  “Yep. Crazy.”

  I feared these fillers would constitute the majority of my conversation with Douglas, until he put down his menu and reached for my hand.

  “I don’t know enough about you. Tell me everything,” he said, leaning forward.

  “Um, what do you want to know?”

  This was the part of the date/job interview where I always stuck my foot in my mouth. During my interview with Jean for the magazine, when he asked me to tell him a little bit about myself, I froze. Desperate to say something, anything at all, I blurted out that I really enjoyed eating cheese.

  “Adrian?” Douglas prodded.

  “I’m a features writer for New York Woman. I’ve worked there a couple of years now.”

  “I know that. Something new.”

  “I grew up in upstate New York. I moved to the city to go to NYU, where I studied journalism,” I started, only to be interrupted by Douglas’s groan.

  “No, not the official biography of Adrian Lexley. Something not too many people know. Here. Take my lead. When I was a kid, I wanted to be Batman. I’m not joking. I did heavy research into how one can become Batman. I’ve been in love four times. Age t
welve, age nineteen, age twenty-three, age twenty-seven. I cry at the end of romantic comedies. I think you’re incredibly beautiful. Now. Your turn.”

  I studied him, bemused by his frankness and flattered by his compliment. He was good. I felt pressured to come up with something just as good.

  “Similar to your Batman obsession, I wanted to be Wonder Woman. In fact, I dressed up as her for Halloween for years. And years. Up until I was eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty-four, since we’re being honest. I’m ambidextrous. I was hit by a car when I was ten. My fault, of course. Long story. I had a tarantula for a pet when I was a teenager. Despite being a journalist, I am actually freakishly good at math. My fiancé jilted me at the altar.”

  I was doing pretty well until I let that last one slip. Douglas, who had been smiling, went absolutely still. I inwardly cringed. Since dating in my teen years, I knew to never ever bring up an ex, especially during the first few dates. Aargh. Where did that admission come from?

  “But it was a while ago. I’m over it,” I said hastily.

  “How long ago?”

  “Er … a few weeks,” I admitted.

  “So I’m just the rebound,” Douglas said slowly, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown.

  “No. You’re not the rebound. I don’t even know why I told you that,” I said, wishing I could kick myself. “Um, let’s see. What else? I’m an expert at the Electric Slide. I performed with a dance troupe and everything. Up until I was seventeen.”

  “Did he literally leave you at the altar?” Douglas asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “Not necessarily. Just in the church. In my wedding dress. Ha ha,” I said, forcing a smile.

  “What a wanker,” Douglas said, shaking his head. He leaned toward me, squeezing my hand. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I yanked my hand away. “I really wish I hadn’t brought it up. Can we please change the subject? Please?”

  Douglas paused before throwing his hands up in a gesture of compliance. He nodded.

  “Thank you,” I said, relieved.

  “Wait. One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  Ah, the question of the hour. Considering that he was sleeping with that supermodel, Marcus was most certainly over me. But was I still in love with him? I still loved Marcus, unfortunately, and I doubted that my love for him would ever fully evaporate. But over him? Most certainly. Of course. Yes, I was. I was.