by Kelly Rimmer
I’m still sitting in useless silence right up until Jess leaves. And just as I suspected, the minute the front door closes, all eyes are on me.
“What just happened?” Abby doesn’t say the words, she growls them. I clear my throat.
“I didn’t mean to upset her—” I say helplessly. I open my hands, because I read somewhere that if you expose your palms to an angry person, you’re showing vulnerability and they’ll go easy on you. The gesture does nothing to soothe the angry pregnant lady, who rounds on me like she’s going to body-slam me.
Isabel approaches from the other side and says sharply, “You upset Jess Cohen. I didn’t know anyone could upset Jess Cohen. What did you do?”
“She didn’t manipulate us,” Abby says sharply. “She tried to help us, can’t you see that?”
“I know,” I say defensively. “I really didn’t mean to hurt her. She’s clearly oversensitive tonight—”
“Oversensitive!” Abby gasps.
“Jake, do you want them to kill you?” Marcus mutters, wincing. I stand, and I throw my hands into the air.
“She did manipulate you guys. I’m glad it worked out for the best but what she did was pretty ballsy, and it all could have ended in disaster. I’m super glad you all ended up together, but what right does she have to interfere in other people’s lives like that?”
“If you knew her like we know her,” Isabel says, voice shaking with feeling, “you’d understand that her intentions are beautiful. She has a tough exterior, but beneath it, she’s one of the most caring, loving people I’ve ever met. And you upset her tonight, Jake Winton, so you need to fix it before you ruin our day tomorrow. I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but you are going to fix it.”
And there, shimmering in the eyes of my sister-inlaw, are the second set of tears I have put in a woman’s eyes tonight. I thought I could sit Jess down and have it out after the festivities tomorrow, but apparently, I lack the self-control to keep things civil until then. I sigh heavily, run my hands through my hair.
“You all know that Jess and I have always grated each other.” That’s the understatement of the century. We spent more than a decade clashing, four months fucking and then the past two years pretending the other didn’t exist. Apparently, Jess and I don’t just run hot and cold, we can exist in the same space only as steam or ice. “I’ll go see her now, clear the air and say sorry.”
“Thanks,” Paul says before he sighs. “Jess can be difficult, but so can I. And you get me better than just about anyone, so I know you can handle her.” He gives me a crooked smile. I feel like a heel.
“I really am sorry about this, Paul.”
“I get it. If I had a dollar for every time I said something awkward, we’d be living in a castle of pure gold.”
I slip my wallet into my pocket, scoop my phone off the table and open the Uber app.
“Don’t you want to know her address?” Abby says sharply.
“Uh . . .”
“She bought a condo. Two years ago.”
Jess and I broke up just before she moved into that place, so she didn’t invite me to the housewarming, but we were definitely together when she was house hunting. I helped Jess pick that apartment, and she actually lived with me while the contractors were remodeling it for her. Abby just has no idea about any of that, and now I have to pretend I need Jess’s address, when I know it by heart because I actually figured I’d wind up living there with her one day.
That’s the problem with lies. You tell one, and the next thing you know you’re drowning in them. I never wanted to hide our relationship from these people in the first place.
But Jess was adamant that no one know we were ever together, and only in the last few months have I figured out why.
CHAPTER THREE
Jess
FOR A WHILE when I first came to New York, I had a poster on the wall of my bedroom at my grandma Chloe’s apartment. It said: “Tears are weakness leaving the body.”
I’m older now and I’m wiser. These days, I know that motivational posters are, literally without exception, bullshit. I also know that tears have nothing to do with weakness, nothing to do with strength even—they have everything to do with losing control.
And under ordinary circumstances, I never lose control.
I thought the worst-case scenario for tonight would be that Jake would ignore me. Never in a million years did I consider the possibility that he’d be living with another woman. Paul never mentioned it, but then again, why would he? Paul has no way of knowing I have a vested interest in Jake’s life. That little tidbit knocked me off-kilter, then Jake’s hostility finished the job. I’m home now, but I’m still feeling jealous and bruised and embarrassed. There was no date—of course there wasn’t, I’m not a complete asshole. Instead, I’ve pulled on my PMS pajamas, and I’m curled up in my wing chair with a bottle of Riesling and a tub of low-carb ice cream. Life is all about balance, you see.
I hear the sound of a key in the lock and then my door swings open, and my friend Mitchell Cole silently steps inside. He’s wearing a confused frown and his typical date uniform of designer jeans and a button-down. Mitch is tall and classically handsome, and clean-shaven with his hair slicked back like it is tonight, he looks like he’s just taking a break from his starring role in a romantic comedy. He silently closes the door and drops his keys and wallet onto my hall table, then, as he walks toward me, lifts his hand and wags his finger from my toes to my hair. “And what exactly am I seeing right now?”
“This is what sulking looks like. Deal with it.” I dig into the ice cream, then I survey his own attire again and sigh. “Didn’t realize you had a date tonight. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, it wasn’t going well. She doesn’t drink.”
“So?”
“She’s not one of those ‘oh I just don’t like to drink myself’ teetotalers. She’s one of those ‘no one is allowed to drink because it’s poison and the body is a temple’ types. I could feel her judgy eyes boring holes in me all night. She was gorgeous, but disapproval is a very effective boner-killer.”
Mitchell Cole would be the most famous person I know if he wasn’t safely hidden away behind a pseudonym. He’s a bestselling author, my best guy friend, my perma-wingman, holder of all of my secrets and the only person who’s seen me cry since I was a kid. Well, he was, until tonight. He sits heavily opposite me now, spreads his legs and rests his elbows on his knees.
“What happened? Did the rehearsal dinner go badly?”
“It went perfectly,” I mutter. “Right up until I cried.”
Mitch frowns at me.
“Cried?”
“You heard me. Jake made me cry.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He said mean things and I burst into tears.” Mitch blinks.
“I’m not following you. Cried? Like . . . tears? In public? Since when do you cry in front of people? And since when does Jake say mean things?”
I sigh and slump again.
“He called me manipulative.”
“You are manipulative.”
“Fuck off.”
“And that right there is the reaction I would have expected from you.”
“Maybe cry is a strong word. I just got teary, but I know they all saw.”
Mitch rises and walks to help himself to my liquor cabinet. He pours himself a drink, then turns back to face me, leaning against the cabinet as he sips at what I know is my twenty-year-old single malt Macallan. The man has expensive tastes. When I first met Mitch, he was working as a barista and that bottle of whiskey would have cost more than a week’s salary for him. It’s a very good thing he’s richer than God these days. It’s also very annoying that he never lets me forget it.
“Jake was the one that got away,” he says gently, and I open my mouth to protest, but he continues pointedly. “Yes, I know he got away because you sent him away, but you can’t actually tell me that wasn’t hard as shit because I had front-row sea
ts for the aftermath.” I close my mouth and look away. “Jess, you’ve managed to pretend Jake disappeared into thin air for two years, but the reality is, he didn’t, and confronting him again was always going to be difficult.”
“I just . . .” I reach down and scoop up my phone, which has been resting on the coffee table between us. I turn the screen on and flick it around to read the notifications on my lock screen. It’s been pinging nonstop since I ran out. There are several messages from Abby and Isabel, one from Marcus, even one from Paul. Paul, who wouldn’t notice another human’s suffering if it was happening on his lap, is worried about me. On the eve of his wedding day. “Everyone is panicking, and I want to punch myself in the fucking face.”
“So, tell them you had a bad night.” Mitch shrugs as he takes a seat back on my sofa. “I know you don’t have bad days, but everyone else does. Sometimes those bad days are badly timed. Or you could just tell them all that you and Jake dated, and things ended badly, and then they’ll completely understand.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“You wanted to keep things with Jake quiet in case it ended badly, right? You didn’t want it to upset your relationship with Paul?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it did end badly. And it did not upset your relationship with Paul. I kind of understood why you insisted on secrecy at the time, but I don’t have a clue why you’re still hiding it from them now.”
“It’s not even about secrecy at the moment. It’s simply me not wanting to steal their thunder on their wedding day.” He gives me a skeptical glance, and I sigh impatiently. “Come on, Mitchell. Surely you get that.”
“This secrecy strategy just resulted in you sobbing like a baby at their rehearsal dinner, so maybe it’s time to reconsider it.”
“I didn’t sob like a baby,” I snap. Mitchell grins and kicks his feet up onto my coffee table. I glare at him, and he rolls his eyes at me.
“You sent me a 911 text, Jess. It must have been bad. The last time you did that was the night you broke up with him, and we both know you did sob like a baby that night.”
I groan and press the cold surface of the ice cream carton against my heated cheeks.
“Did you know he’s living with someone?”
Mitch gives me a quizzical glance.
“No. He’s not.”
“He is,” I mutter. “He was talking about her tonight. Just before he accused me of playing God with Abby’s and Isabel’s relationships. It hurt.”
“I’ve tried very hard to stay safely in no-man’s land between you since you guys split, but I saw him two months ago, and he wasn’t even seeing anyone then.” This doesn’t reassure me one bit because I know that Jake is the kind of guy who might move fast if he met the right woman. Or even if he met the wrong one, like me. “Also, Jess, you did play God with their relationships.” I glare at Mitch and he gives an exaggerated sigh. “This friendship works because we’re honest with one another. If you’re going to change the rules and expect me to fear you like everyone else, I’m going to have to rethink this whole arrangement.” I snatch a cushion off the couch and throw it at his head. He dodges it easily and laughs. “I’ve known you for a long time. You have your faults, and you do tend to meddle like a grandchild-obsessed senior citizen hell-bent on matchmaking her kids, but your intentions are always good.”
“For a novelist, you sure do love an awkward metaphor.”
There’s a sudden, dramatic knock at the door. I look to Mitch and find him downing the whiskey.
“Don’t leave,” I blurt, and he sets the glass on my coffee table and says very gently, “That’s either Abby, Isabel or Jake. Right?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and I nod.
“If it’s Abby or Isabel, you don’t need me here. And if it’s Jake, you don’t want me here.”
“I do want you here.”
“Jess, you’re a lot of things, but you’re nothing like a coward,” Mitch says, so gently that I could almost cry again. Almost. “It’s time to face the music, especially if things between you two are still so tense you’re about to ruin this wedding. I know you don’t want that.”
Stupid Mitchell and his stupid insight.
There’s another knock, then Jake calls out, “Jess. Open up, I know you’re in there.”
I groan in frustration and rise.
“Wait here,” I snap at Mitch, who raises one eyebrow at me coolly.
“Why?”
I wave my hand down toward my PMS pajamas. I have quite a few regrets from tonight, but the pajamas are now at the very top of that list. If I’d been thinking clearly, I’d have considered the possibility that Jake would come here.
“I’m not answering the door like this.”
Mitch sighs and stands.
“I’ll let him in while you change—”
“No,” I say, and Mitch hesitates.
“Jess . . .”
“I’ll talk to him in the hall. I’m not letting him in. If I let him in, I’ll . . .”
I’ll what . . .? I’ll throw myself at him. I’ll beg his forgiveness. I’ll apologize profusely. I’ll make an idiot of myself. At least in the hallway, I’ll be in a neutral public space, and then maybe I’ll feel in control. As I’m struggling for words, Mitchell’s expression softens.
“Okay, Jess. Go ahead.”
I HAVE ABSOLUTELY no choice but to try to bluff my way through this, because if I’m going to maintain a shred of dignity, I’ll have to stick to my original lie and insist that I did have a date. I can’t stand Jake thinking that while he goes home each night to this—no doubt—flawless, glamorous Clara woman, I’m schlepping around here in my Winnie-the-Pooh onesie.
I throw the ice cream in the bin as I sprint toward my bedroom. I’m gone for just a few minutes, but when I saunter to the living room, Mitchell nearly chokes.
“This is a bad, bad idea,” he says flatly. “Don’t you dare seduce that man. Nothing has changed. You still don’t want what he wants—”
“I’m not seducing him,” I snap as I adjust the neckline on my very short tube dress, then scrub my teeth to make sure the bright red lipstick I hastily applied hasn’t spread. The makeup is far from perfect, but my boobs are pretty much hanging out over the top of this thing. Jake probably won’t even notice I still have a face. “I told them I had a date . . . Well, this is how I would look if that was true.”
“And how are you going to explain my presence?”
There’s another, more determined thump on my door. I shrug as if I have no idea how to answer that question, even as I walk to Mitchell’s side. I reach up as if I’m going to kiss his cheek goodbye. At the very last minute, I plant a kiss right near his mouth. Just as I’d hoped, the bright red lipstick lands heavily and when he reaches up to wipe it off, it smears onto his lips.
Perfect.
Mitch leans back and stares at me warily. “Jess . . .”
I shrug innocently, then reach up and tussle his hair. He finally realizes the scene I’m trying to set here, and he all but leaps away from me.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I’m just trying to get through a difficult situation, Mitchell,” I say lightly. Mitch is genuinely pissed, and for a second, I think I’ve gone too far, especially when he scoops his keys and wallet up from the hall table and turns furiously toward the door. Jake steps back in alarm as Mitchell throws the door open with some force.
“Hey, Jake,” Mitch says. “Still on for breakfast Sunday? Good. By the way, she is manipulative, she totally loves to play God and you did upset her so . . . good fucking luck.” He turns back to scowl at me, but at the very last second, his expression softens. “I’ll see you at the wedding, you friggin’ weirdo.”
Mitch and I have a longstanding “plus one” reciprocal arrangement, one that means either one of us can easily bow out to go home with a groomsman or bridesmaid if the opportunity arises. Actually, the opportunity did arise at Paul’s last wedding, and th
at’s exactly what got me into this mess.
I already feel bad about what I just did to Mitch. He’s a great friend and he doesn’t deserve to be treated like a prop in my stupid game with Jake. Tonight is officially a disaster, and it isn’t even over yet. Jake is standing in the hall looking completely bewildered, and so I force myself to raise my chin and take two more steps, until I’m blocking the doorway. I walk quickly, because I don’t want him to come inside, but not too quickly, because I want to seem slightly annoyed and not panicked.
Do I feel like a sex goddess right now?
No. No, I absolutely do not. I feel like an idiot—exposed, embarrassed and somewhat bewildered by how easily tonight has spun completely out of my control.
But if there’s one thing I’m sure of in this life, it’s that you fake it till you make it, and that’s why I pin a sultry smile on my face and lean into the door frame and I stare Jake Winton right in the eyes. I’m rewarded for my quick-fire outfit change when those eyes nearly fall out of his stupidly handsome head. I feign confusion and calm.
“Jake, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Jess,” he says, then he clears his throat. I can see him struggling to keep his gaze on my face and I suddenly regret this plan. I didn’t want to admit I lied about a date, but I haven’t thought this through at all. Does he think I’m trying to seduce him? Knowing he has a live-in girlfriend? Jesus. I’m off-kilter tonight, frazzled and reactive. I hate it. I’m both disappointed and relieved when the lust-addled expression on Jake’s face clears and he raises his gaze to my eyes. He’s pissed at me too now, but maybe that’s for the best. “Cut the bullshit. We need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I start to say. “And as you can see, you interrupted something—”
“You and Mitch? Please,” Jake snaps. “Did you forget you told me that you two hooked up once?”
Actually, I did forget I told him that. I try to forget everything about the time Mitchell and I hooked up. Also, “hooked up” is a bit of an exaggeration, given we had so little chemistry, I actually gagged when he put his tongue in my mouth. Not a polite-cough gag either. I was very nearly sick, and that’s saying something, because my lack of a gag reflex is legendary.
