by CJ Martín
He chuckles, hands in his pockets. “Everyone deserves a chance, Ms. Jones.”
But the way his eyes skim over me, the heaviness of his voice tells me there might be more to his reasoning than he admits.
I keep my voice light. “But somehow I don’t think that’s what this is.”
His eyes widen at my directness, but I’m done playing games. I don’t have time for games. Look how long I waited for Jesse, and we still crashed and burned. I’m left tired and broken.
“I like you, Jones.”
A smile curves my lips. I was right. “So, you only gave me this project because you wanted to sleep with me?”
He holds his hands up. “Whoa. I didn’t say that.”
“So, why then?”
“Because I think you’re talented.” I quirk my brow and he continues. “I think you have spunk, fresh ideas, and yes, I was hoping…” My eyes widen in anticipation. “To get to know you better.”
“Fair enough.” I nod. “Thanks for being honest.”
“So, you’ll have a drink with me?” His eyes hold mine.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I never said it was.” He winks. “What do you say?”
I take one last glance inside. Lauren catches my eyes, and in her penetrating stare I can read every thought: What the fuck are you doing, Riley? Stop flirting with Mr. Lewg. Do you know how lucky you are to get this break? I swear to God, you screw this up, your job at LAMP is done. Done.
Turning back to face Bill, I take a deep breath. “Sure.”
55
Riley
So begins my love affair with Bill. Okay, love affair is a tad dramatic, because the truth is I will never feel the way about another man the way the way I feel about Jesse. There’s no point in trying. But Bill is kind and considerate—the definition of a true gentleman. He doesn’t know it, but he’s slowly, ever so slowly, helping to heal my fractured heart.
I waited two months to sleep with him. I just wasn’t ready, and if I’m being honest, I’m still not ready, but it was time. God bless Bill, he was patient with me, never pressured or pushed for more. But I was out of excuses.
The first time we had sex, I closed my eyes and prayed for it to be over.
The second time, I faked an orgasm so that he would finish.
The third time, I mentally constructed my grocery list.
The fourth time…never happened because I lied and said I was on my period. Awful of me, I know, but I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm.
It’s not like Bill’s a bad lover; in fact, the opposite is true. He’s attentive and sweet and generous. There’s only one problem…he’s not Jesse. This is exactly what I tell Liza on the phone tonight.
“I think I’m cursed.” I flop back onto my bed and close my eyes.
I hear Liza’s laugh, although it’s a bit delayed due to the poor connection. “You’re not cursed.”
I sit up and look into the screen so I can see her face. “It’s been nearly seven months!” Seven months without him.
She smacks her lips but then says, “It’s all in your head.”
I roll my eyes. She can never understand what it was like with Jesse. How he made me come. How he worshipped my body like he owned it. How he made me crave him and no one else. No one will ever understand how I still crave him.
“Your largest sex organ is your brain—”
“Liza,” I interrupt, ready to cut her off, but then I remember reading an article that said something to that effect. Funny, I never really thought about it before. Never really had to. Jesse made me…
Liza’s voice steamrolls my thoughts. “You gotta stop thinking about him.”
“I can’t.”
“Well.” She clicks her tongue. “You know what they say…once you go black…” half black, my mind silently corrects as she continues, “…you never go back.”
“Really?” I shout. “Your best friend is having a mental breakdown, and you’re spouting nonsense about black men’s dicks.”
She stifles a laugh. “Well, when you put it that way…” She pauses, clears her throat. “Okay, sorry.” Then softer, “Ry, you have to move on.”
“I am moving on!” My voice gains intensity. “I’m dating Bill, aren’t I?”
“And how many times have you guys had sex?”
I scowl. “We have plenty of sex, Liza.” Does three times constitute as plenty of sex? No, the devil on my shoulder shouts. I remember when you and Jesse had sex three times in one day.
Liza huffs. “Yet, you’re the one calling me because you think Jesse put some voodoo on you and you’re never going to have an orgasm again?”
“What else could it be?” I cry, my mind replaying Jesse’s words all those months ago: That will be the last orgasm you ever have without me.
He meant it. He really fucking meant it. Despite my best efforts—and Bill’s—I can’t get there. Not even with Mr. Jack Rabbit…and trust me, I’ve tried.
Liza sighs. “Riley, you have to move on. You have to let him go.”
A pleading whine tinges my voice and I hate it. “I don’t know how.”
She must take pity on me, because I’m sure I look as pathetic as I sound, with my streaky mascara and ratty hair that sticks out in all directions. “Riley.” She speaks my name with sincerity. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re with Bill now.”
Part of me knows she’s right, and that part of me wants to rebel, to say fuck Jesse Collins, and never speak his name again. But a larger part of me wants to crawl inside the memories and remember. Remember every detail about the beautiful boy who stole my heart eighteen years ago and never gave it back.
It’s the latter part that I indulge. It’s the part I always indulge. I’m on a one-way roller coaster, heading down, down, down, self-sabotaging but not caring or bothering enough to stop it. But still I say the words I know she longs to hear. “You’re right.”
She nods her head and then adds, “You deserve to be happy, Ry.”
I nod, fighting back tears.
She steals a glance at the clock before saying, “I have to go. You sure you’re gonna be all right?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, “I’ll be fine.”
Maybe tomorrow, but not today.
56
Riley
You’d think I’d be used to these types of functions after nearly eight months of dating Bill. As a member of Cardinal’s Cay Chamber of Commerce, attending charity events like these are fairly common. Tonight’s banquet is in honor of basketball Coach Frankie James, who’s retiring from Breckland University after twenty-three years of coaching.
Bill explained before the party that Coach Frankie is a national icon, a basketball coach who has earned five consecutive NCAA titles, and is well respected by not only his fellow coaches, but also professional players and fans alike. He is a big deal in our local area.
I listened to Bill as if this was new information, but the truth is I know quite a bit about Coach Frankie James. He’s one of Jesse’s heroes, and Jesse used to talk about him quite often. In fact, I probably know more Coach Frankie trivia than all the guests at the banquet combined. For example, things like, Frankie James is a rather superstitious man and is retiring after twenty-three years specifically, because twenty-three is Michael Jordan’s number.
“Oh, my God. Did you see her shoes?” I stare at the petite brunette with the amazing four-inch Louboutins who passes us in the reception line. “I’d die for those shoes.”
Bill wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer, his lips inches from my ear. “I’d die to see you in them.” He kisses the shell of my ear. “And nothing else.”
I smile, a slow blush tingeing my cheeks red. My chemistry with Bill still isn’t off the charts—but let’s face it, I resigned myself to never having that type of attraction again. The heat between us isn’t a raging inferno, but rather a steady, lukewarm heat. It’s nice. Comfortable. Even. And good enough.
; Bill takes a step back and looks toward our table in the next room. “We should take our seats. Dinner is about to start.”
“Sure.” I place my hand on his arm. “I just need to use the restroom quick.”
He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the bathrooms at the end of the lobby. “I’ll grab us another drink.”
“O—” The word is meant to be okay, an agreement to his simple suggestion, but instead it turns into “Oh”…a long “oh.” An oh-my-fucking-God “oh.”
My body is paralyzed, rooted to the spot, but my eyes race back and forth, up and down, side to side, not quite believing what they’re seeing.
It can’t be.
I’m hallucinating. Dreaming. Experiencing crazy déjà vu. Because it looks like the man with the dark charcoal suit is…
“Riley?” Bill and Jesse say at exactly the same time, but I only hear his voice. Jesse. My Jesse.
It’s been thirteen months, but in this moment, it feels like it’s only been thirteen seconds.
He looks incredible. The dark suit molds to his athletic frame, the powder blue tie enhances the azure tone of his eyes. His hair is cut short, shorter than he used to wear it, and my fingers itch to rub against the scratchy surface.
But I can’t focus on any of those things right now, because tonight all I see is the man who broke my heart.
Even though I’ve made no attempt to speak or move, Jesse approaches. “Riley.” He reaches for me, his arms extended as though he’s going to hug me, but it’s awkward because Bill still has his arm wrapped around my waist.
I move my mouth but no sound comes out.
Bill releases his hold, extends his hand. “Bill Lewg.”
Jesse takes his hand, and I watch, mesmerized, as those long fingers wrap around Bill’s. This can’t be happening. “Jesse Collins.”
“Good to meet you.” Bill pumps his hand.
Jesse nods his head, but says nothing, just continues to stare at me. If I’m being fair, I’m staring, too, my mouth having forgotten how to work. I twist my palms together like crazy.
Finally, Bill breaks the silence. “So, how do you know Riley?”
Jesse’s eyes narrow on mine and there’s a flash of hurt before he speaks. “I’m an old friend.”
What does he expect? I don’t go around advertising how he ripped my heart out. I finally find my voice. “Jesse and I grew up together.”
“Oh, always nice meeting a friend of Riley’s. I haven’t gotten a chance to meet much of her family.”
Jesse lifts a brow in question: Are you two together?
It’s new. It’s…complicated, I answer with my eyes.
“We’re at table number fifty-four. Stop over to chat after dinner, before the speeches,” Bill continues, oblivious to our silent conversation.
“Thank you, but—”
“There you are.” The brunette, the same one with the amazing heels, bands her arm around Jesse. “Thought I lost you there for a second.”
Now it’s my turn to question: Who is she?
But Jesse doesn’t answer, at least not in the way I want him to. “This is Abigail Houghton.” He gestures from the brunette to Bill and me. “This is Riley Jones and…sorry.” He glances at Bill. “I’m terrible with names.”
“Bill Lewg.” Bill extends his hand again. “Good to meet you.”
“Nice meeting you,” she agrees, voice saccharine sweet. I want to hate her, but she’s stunning, has the cutest dimples, and we’ve already established how I feel about her shoes. Plus, she seems genuinely nice.
Still, I can’t bring myself to acknowledge her. I don’t know how to greet Jesse’s new girlfriend. I don’t know how to make small talk with the girl who has replaced me. I don’t know how to smile and pretend that I’m not dying inside.
Silence fills the air as the harpist and cellist finish the final notes from their closing piece of music, and the waiters begin to serve the first course. “Looks like dinner’s starting.” Bill places his hand on my elbow.
Abigail nods. “I’m going to sit down.” She turns with wide eyes to Jesse. “You coming?”
He nods. “I’ll be right there.”
She turns to us before walking away. “It was nice meeting you both.”
“Same here,” Bill says, as I drop my gaze.
“Ry?” Jesse extends his arm but drops it when I pull back. I cannot let him touch me. If he does, I will fall apart.
“Yeah?” My voice shakes, and I pray that neither he nor Bill notices.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Umm.” I hesitate and glance at Bill. “We really should take our seats.”
Bill, ever the gentleman, concedes. “It’s fine, sweetie.” I wince at his words. “Stay and chat with your friend.”
Fuck. Before I can speak, Jesse addresses Bill. “We’ll only be a minute.” Then to me, “It’s really good to see you, Ry.”
I nod my head but keep my eyes down.
“You look great.”
I take a deep breath and meet his eyes. All my pent-up emotions: the anger, the sadness, the heartbreak, pour into one question. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here—”
But I cut him off. “I thought you were living in North Carolina with your dad?” His brow furrows. “Not that I would know that, because you cut me out of your life. You walked out and never once looked back.” My voice breaks and tears pool in my eyes. “Why did you leave?”
“Riley.” He reaches forward to swipe the lone tear that slides down my cheek.
“No.” I shake my head and remove his hand. “You don’t get to touch me. Or explain. Or be my friend. You broke me, Jesse.” I take a step back. “Not just my heart, but me. You broke me.”
“Riley.’ He says my name again, and the way he says it, with so much pain and emotion, I half-wonder if he’s hurting as much as I am right now.
“I have to go.” I spin toward the dining room where the waiters are already serving the second course.
“Meet me at ESPresso tomorrow,” he shouts at my retreating back.
I stop walking. “No.”
He moves behind me, so close that I can feel the heat from his body scalding my bare skin. One inch closer, and I’d feel the press of the hard planes of his chest against my back.
“Please.” He dips his head to whisper in my ear, and my body shudders. Every nerve, every cell sparks to life, and it’s like the first bite of chocolate cake after a forty-day cleanse. Heavenly. Euphoric. Divine.
I close my eyes. “I can’t.”
“One coffee,” he begs.
“Why?” I wish I didn’t sound as confused and unsure as I do.
“Because I miss my best friend.” His lips graze the nape of my neck as he draws closer. “I miss you.”
My palms curl into fists, and I curse myself for being so weak. “I miss you, too.”
57
Riley
Even though I don’t think Bill would mind me meeting Jesse for coffee—Bill’s the least jealous person I know—I still don’t tell him. Bill and I have been dating for months, but he still doesn’t know much about my past relationships, which is strange because usually I’m an open book—apart from the whole Jason incident, that is.
But my heart is barely healed, stitched together with a frayed thread, held loosely in place with a few scraps of tape. Talking about Jesse would reopen the wound, and I wouldn’t survive it; I’d bleed out.
I arrive at Café ESPresso almost twenty minutes early. I was afraid the more I hesitated, the more time I waited, I’d chicken out. Plus, a part of me knew that if I drove past the café and saw Jesse there waiting, it was a very real possibility that I’d keep on driving.
The irony isn’t lost on me that we’re meeting at the same café I used to work at during high school and my college summers. Thankfully, most of the staff is new, so I don’t recognize anyone, and my old manager, Ricky, doesn’t typically work Saturday mornings—and
so today he isn’t behind the counter.
I’m twisting my coffee cup in my hands when Jesse approaches. I’m so nervous that I nearly drop the cup at his feet.
“You came,” he says, as he takes the seat across from me.
I shrug. I almost didn’t.
“So,” he begins. “How are you?”
I stare at him. Are we really doing this?
He attempts to make conversation again, but it’s awkward. “You cut your hair?”
I nod.
“Sorry.” He dips his head and combs a hand through his hair. “This is… I’m nervous. I never expected to see you at the banquet. I thought I’d know what to say…”
You had thirteen months to figure it out.
I take a moment to observe him. He looks the same, if not a bit older. Not in a bad way, but his edges are sharper, a bit more mature. When he pins me with those intense blue eyes, I lose my breath.
I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I’m damn near suffocating. Say something, Riley. Anything. Just say something.
But my mouth won’t move. No sound forms, even though I’m concentrating every ounce of my effort to move my lips.
Thankfully, he breaks the silence. “You asked me why—”
“Jesse, don’t.” I cut him off. For the past thirteen months I dreamt of this moment, fantasized about the day he’d give me all the answers I needed, and I’d finally have closure, but now that it’s actually here, I’m anything but happy. I’m terrified.
“I have to.” He places both palms on the table. “I love you.”
My brain registers the word. He said love. Present tense.
My voice whispers his name. “Jesse.”
“Do you remember the time in fourth grade when we signed up for the talent show?”
“Yeah?” I don’t try to hide my confusion. What’s that got to do with anything? “I had to sing our duet all by myself when you got sick with strep throat.”
“You insisted on calling our group JC & the Barbie Doll.” He smiles as he remembers the memory. “I couldn’t sing for shit—or play an instrument—so I wanted to lip sync. But not you. You insisted we actually sing.”
