by Ryan, Lexi
“Who’s that?”
“Professor Douche,” I mutter. “What the hell is he doing here?”
Maven’s eyes go wide, and he gives Shay’s guy a dismissive once-over before turning back to me. “Speaking of, how is the love life?”
I tear my attention off George and focus on Mav. “What love life?”
“Oh, now you’re going to pretend you weren’t hoping to get back together with the best friend’s little sister? What’s wrong? Did it turn out she’s serious about Mr. Manbun?”
“Serious enough about him that she won’t talk to me.” I squeeze the back of my neck. Hell, Shay’s refusal to talk to me probably has nothing to do with George Alby and everything to do with how I fucked up.
A flash of blond hair in my periphery sends my attention back to Professor Douche’s table. He stands to greet her and . . . holy fucking shit, he’s kissing her. Like, open-mouth, face-eating, should-probably-get-a-room kissing.
Mav’s attention slides to the table across from us before coming back to me. “But that’s not your girl.”
“No,” I say. “That is not Shay.” Fuck. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Can I take a picture? Would that be going too far?
“Well, score one for Team Easton. Does she know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Holy shit, man. You’re gonna tell her, though, right?”
My jaw ticks. “I think I have to, but I doubt she’ll believe me.” She certainly didn’t appreciate it when I told her about Buttercup.
He hisses. “What a fucking mess.”
“No argument from me there.” They’re sliding into the same side of the booth now, but they’re all over each other. I drag a hand through my hair and blow out a breath. “Listen, you mind if we jet? I suddenly lost my appetite.”
“Sure. I understand.” Maven pulls a twenty from his wallet and throws it on the table to cover our coffees.
I stand and head toward the door, but after three steps, I turn around and go to George’s table.
He’s so absorbed with his company that he doesn’t even notice me scowling down at him. I clear my throat. “What do you—” He blinks at me. “Easton.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “This is Buttercup?”
The blonde frowns. “What are you talking about?” She looks to George. “Who is this?”
George shakes his head. “Someone I know from work.”
“Who’s Buttercup?”
I grunt. Jesus, how many women is he stringing along?
“Did you need something, Easton?”
I think through my options. I’m just a hair too civilized to punch him, though he definitely deserves it. “Nah. I’m good. Just wanted to let you know I’m here.” I pause a beat. “And I’m paying attention.”
His date arches a brow. “Who do you think you are to interrupt our meal like this?”
George smiles at me, unfazed when he should be horrified. “He thinks he’s a big shot just because he’s an athlete.”
Oh, fuck that. He realizes I’m going to tell Shay, right? “Shay deserves better than you,” I say.
Maven grabs my arm and tugs me toward the exit. “Come on, East. Let’s get out of here.”
Shay
Molly is the last person I expected to insist on a small wedding. I knew Brayden would be on board for anything she wanted, and I expected something elaborate.
Molly runs the new Jackson Brews Banquet Center and specializes in over-the-top, beautiful weddings. She’s so good at them, in fact, that I always assumed she’d have one of her own. But when Brayden proposed last fall and they started talking wedding plans, Molly made one thing very clear: she didn’t want all the fuss. All that mattered to her was having her mom and all of the Jacksons there. She wanted Noah to walk her down the aisle and my siblings standing beside them as they said their vows.
Upon hearing this, my mom burst into tears. It’s a good thing we aren’t a competitive bunch, because in that moment, Molly may have become Mom’s favorite.
Molly and Brayden decided to have the big day at our family’s cabin about thirty minutes outside of Jackson Harbor. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. They were planning it for the spring on the tiny beach in front of the lake, and I was thinking of Molly in a white dress, of Brayden with that dumbstruck, loving look he’s had on his face since Molly moved back from New York. I was not thinking of Easton Connor being back in town. I wasn’t thinking of the house where we played Never Have I Ever and he snuck into my room after midnight to sleep next to me. I wasn’t thinking of New Year’s Eve.
Now I’m thinking of those things. Since he’s practically family, everyone assumes he’s coming. As twisted up as the idea makes me, I’d be disappointed in him if he didn’t.
“I like that one, Shayleigh,” Mom says.
We’re trying on bridesmaid dresses. Molly decided she didn’t want us all to match. She wants us to wear different spring colors in knee-length dresses of any style. I’ve realized since the minimal plans have been in motion that if I told Molly I wanted to show up in PJs, she probably wouldn’t bat an eye. All that matters to her is Brayden.
I look down at the dress my mom likes so much. It’s a warm peach strapless dress with a high waist and a poufy skirt that makes me think of 1950s swing dresses. It shows off my legs, toned from running and twice-weekly weights. I love my legs and I feel pretty in this, which is a plus. I have much more confidence than I did when I was a teenage girl in love with Easton, but feeling pretty still doesn’t come easily.
I look to Molly. “Do you like it?”
“You look amazing,” she says with a big smile.
“When are we finally going to meet the boy you’ve been seeing?” Mom says.
I force a smile. Boy is not the best word to describe George Alby. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Mom.” And I don’t want to analyze why this is a relief to me—why the idea of introducing George to my family makes me a little queasy. And that feeling isn’t a product of the breakup. It’s always been there.
But why didn’t I want my family to meet him? Was I worried they’d judge me for sleeping with the chair of my dissertation committee? Hell, I’m judging me. Or is it because I knew they’d recognize what I already knew on a gut level? George and I aren’t a good fit.
“Why the secrecy?” Ava asks, coming out of a stall. She’s wearing a blush rose one-shoulder gown.
“I love that on you, Av,” I say, and my sister-in-law beams.
“It covers my mommy pooch,” she says, patting her stomach.
I snort. “You don’t have a mommy pooch.”
“I do, and I like it, so hush!”
“Don’t change the subject,” Molly says. “Why the secrecy with the guy?”
“It’s not actually . . . a thing,” I say. I look down, studying the hemline of my dress. Again, I’m struck by how little I feel about ending this thing with George. It should be a blow. But maybe I’m just made wrong, because it’s not. It wasn’t even much of a blow when Steve broke up with me, and that was the longest relationship I’ve had. No, it seems Easton is the only man capable of leaving me in pieces when he walks away. “I don’t think we’re going to see each other anymore.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mom says.
Teagan is watching me. She’s been uncharacteristically silent on the topic of George and Easton. I have a feeling I know why. She’s met George a few times, and I don’t think she likes him. “Did he . . . want more commitment or something?” she asks.
Right, because last time I talked to Teagan about George, I thought he was going to propose. Because I’m an idiot. “No. Neither of us were ready for that.” I’ll explain the rest to her later when we don’t have an audience. “It’s not a big deal. We were never serious.” I sigh. “Honestly, it was never a good idea to sleep with someone I work with.” Mom’s eyes go wide, and I realize what I’ve said. “Sorry, Mom. Your baby girl isn’t a virgin anymore.”
She laughs. “I didn’t figure you were, Shayleigh.”
“To bigger and better things,” Teagan says with a nod. Then under her breath, so only I can hear, she says, “Emphasis on bigger.”
Swallowing a laugh, I elbow my friend then change the subject in case Mom can see all my secrets in the blush of my cheeks. “And anyway, it’s not a good idea to get attached to anyone here when I’m about to uproot my whole life.”
Mom frowns. “How’s the job hunt going?”
“Better than expected.” Maybe that’s the problem. Did part of me believe I wouldn’t be able to find a job? That I wouldn’t have to worry about moving away from my family because I didn’t think anyone would want me? “I have an interview in Oklahoma on Monday and then one at Emmitson in L.A. next month.”
“Oklahoma? L.A.? Those are both so far.” Mom looks like I just told her I’m planning to marry Satan. “You wouldn’t move there, would you?”
“Mom . . .”
“I hear that it’s really hard to find jobs in your field,” Ava says in her typical peacemaking way.
I nod. “It can be. There’s not exactly a shortage of English PhDs, so general wisdom says you go where the job is.”
Mom wrings her hands. “But who wouldn’t want you? I thought Chicago or Indianapolis—Ann Arbor, maybe? But L.A.?”
She thought I’d stay within a weekend’s drive. Oh, God. Wouldn’t that be nice? I wouldn’t have to miss Sunday brunch. I wouldn’t have to miss watching my nieces growing up. “I don’t know how I feel about it.” Maybe honesty’s my best bet here. “I’ve worked really hard to get this degree, and it only makes sense to follow the job. That was always the plan. But I can’t pretend I’m excited about living on the other side of the country and only coming home a couple of times a year.”
Mom pales. “A couple of times?”
My heart squeezes. I always assumed she’d thought this through. “I haven’t made any decisions yet, but . . .” I stare at my bare feet, too aware of all the eyes in the room focused on me. “I’m beginning to realize the first decision I need to make is whether I even want to keep working in academia.”
“You don’t have to take a job right away, do you?” Teagan asks. “Maybe you need a break so you can decide. A buffer year.”
“I need a catering manager at the banquet center,” Molly says. “I mean, obviously you’re ridiculously overqualified, but if you just wanted to step away for a while, the job is yours.”
“I love that idea,” Mom says, clasping her hands together. And it’s official. Now Molly is definitely her favorite. She spins to me. “You could work for Molly until you find something closer, Shayleigh.”
The idea pulls me in two directions. On one hand, I don’t want to leave home. On the other hand, finishing my PhD and abandoning it feels like a degree of failure. “Maybe I’ll put my application in,” I tell Molly. “I’m just not sure yet.”
“No pressure.” She grins. “Just options.”
I nod. “Options are good.” My phone buzzes, and I stoop to grab it from my purse in the corner.
Easton: I’m coming back from Chicago early. We need to talk. And before you say no, it’s not about you and me. It’s about something else.
“Is everything okay?” Mom asks. She’s got this sixth sense when it comes to her kids. She always knows when there’s something wrong. I swear, even though I’ve never breathed a word about my relationship with Easton to anyone in my family, I wouldn’t be totally shocked if my mom suspected something had happened between us. That’s just the way she is.
“Everything’s fine.” I force a smile and shove my phone back into my purse without replying. I really want to stop talking about myself. “Is everyone happy with their dresses?”
Molly scans the group, and everyone nods happily. “I think so.”
“Then let me take my girls to lunch,” Mom says. She looks at me. “I know you’re very busy with everything right now, Shay, but come to lunch with us. You need to eat.”
“I will. Lunch sounds good.” That’s a lie. Nothing sounds good. This morning, I tried to make myself eat oatmeal and ended up dry-heaving over the toilet for fifteen minutes. I’m glad I didn’t know in high school what stress does to my appetite, because I probably would’ve sought it out just to lose weight.
I head back to the changing room, hoping that a locked door between my mom and me will dim her spider-sense.
“Shay,” she calls right as I start to unzip. Damn it. She’s going to realize I’ve been feeling sick, and when she does, she’ll hound me about going to the doctor. I would, seriously, but there’s no point. After Dad’s funeral, I was sick for weeks. This isn’t my first rodeo.
“Yeah, Mom.” I hang the dress back up and try to infuse a smile into my voice.
“I think you separating from your boyfriend might be quite timely.”
Yeah, because there’s never a bad time to realize you’re sleeping with a married asshole. God, if Mom ever finds out, I’ll have to move. I can barely look her in the eye as it is. “Why’s that?”
“Because Easton was asking Carter about you. Carter said he made it quite clear he was interested and planning to pursue something. Remember how much you used to like him? You followed him around like a puppy dog when you were little. It was the cutest thing.”
I yank on my sweater dress with more force than necessary. “Not happening, Mom.”
“Why not? He’s an amazing man. You know this.”
“Just not interested.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not attracted to him anymore.”
Why is this my life? I step out of the changing room. Instead of giving me her Cheshire Cat grin, Mom is studying me with her worried mother eyes. I take her hand and squeeze it. “Let me figure out where I’m going to be living next year before I start dating anyone, okay?”
She smiles, but there’s something about the narrowing of her eyes that makes me think she can see through me. “You know, Steve’s mom told me what Easton did when Steve broke up with you in Paris.” She cocks her head to the side. “It was such a kind thing to do, and yet . . . you never mentioned it to me?”
There’s a question in her words that I can’t answer. I love my mom, and her approval means the world to me. George would say that’s immature, but that’s just the way I’m built. “It was a long time ago,” I say, and I try to ignore the hurt that flashes in her eyes when she realizes I have no intention of saying anything more.
Easton
I wasn’t planning to come back to Jackson Harbor until Sunday, but after seeing Professor Douche with his . . . whatever she was to him this morning, I couldn’t wait to talk to Shay. Not that she replied to my text messages.
I thought about going to her apartment, but if there’s anything I’ve learned during the last couple of weeks, it’s that Shay doesn’t spend much time there. It seems like she’s always at work, the bar, or on her laptop in the apartment upstairs.
I’m not surprised to see her when I step out of the cold and into Jackson Brews. I am surprised to see that she’s working—not tapping away at her laptop, but pouring beers behind the bar, taking orders, and mixing drinks like a pro.
I’m already high on her list of Least Favorite People, and I secured my place on that list years ago by sharing information she probably would’ve been happier never knowing. It was a mistake and I regret it to this day, but this is different, isn’t it?
No matter how many times I think it over and plan my words, I know she’s going to hate the messenger for what I have to tell her, but what if I didn’t tell her and she found out I withheld that her boyfriend was screwing around with at least one other woman? There’s no doubt in my mind that she’d consider that a much worse crime.
I slide onto a stool and am all too aware of the way she stiffens when she registers my presence. “Hello, Shayleigh.”
She flicks her gaze over me quickly. And hell, if their coolers break, Jake can just have Shay keep the beer cold w
ith her attitude toward me. “What can I get you?” Ice cold.
She already hates me. Might as well make myself public enemy number one by being the bearer of bad news. Fuck. Not just bad news. The shittiest news. “Can we talk?” I’m starting to sound like a broken record with this question.
She sighs, but she sounds more tired than annoyed. “Not right now, Easton.”
I spot her brother pushing out of the kitchen. “Hey, Jake.”
He lifts his chin at me and serves a basket of fried something to the couple at the end of the bar before heading down to our end. “What’s up?”
“Can I steal Shay for a few minutes? I need to talk to her about something important. It has to do with . . . her dissertation committee.”
He nods eagerly. “Please do. She’s not even supposed to be here.” I didn’t notice, but now that he mentions it, Shay’s not even dressed for work. Everyone who serves here wears jeans or a skirt and a Jackson Brews T-shirt, but Shay is dressed in a sweater dress that hugs her curves like whoever designed it was on a mission to torture me. “Cindy’s pissed that she’s going to make fewer tips because she has to work back here with Shay.”
“I told her she can have the tips.”
“And I told you that you aren’t needed,” Jake says. He turns back to me. “The only reason she’s here is because she’s procrastinating.”
“Luckily, I can help with that,” I say, smiling at Shay. “Why don’t you grab a drink and meet me back there?” I point a thumb toward the back of the bar and head that way without another word. I’m better off not giving her the opportunity to deny me.
I slide into a booth, knowing there’s a good chance she won’t follow.
When she does, she doesn’t take the seat across from me. She stands at the foot of the table like she’s my fucking waitress or something. “What?”
Fine. We’ll do it her way. I take a breath. “I just got back from Chicago.”
“Obviously.”
“I saw Professor D—George while I was there.”
She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “His daughter lives in Chicago. He spends half his week there.”
