Jovie’s laugh lacks any humor. “Try again.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation for how I run my business.”
“No, but you owe me honesty about why you’re acting like someone who’s afraid of her own shadow.” She adds sugar to her coffee with deliberate movements. “This about the musician? Darian?”
Heat climbs my neck because of course she knows. Jovie reads people like sheet music, catching every subtle change in key.
“Everything isn’t about men.”
“No, but this is.” She takes a sip and watches me over the rim of her cup. “What happened?”
I could lie. Should lie. Keep this mess contained instead of spreading it around like some kind of emotional infection. But Jovie’s been watching me self-destruct for two days, covering for my absence, probably fielding questions I should be answering myself.
“We slept together,” I mumble, incoherently.
Jovie blinks. “That’s it?”
“That’s enough.”
“Rye, you’re a grown woman. You’re allowed to have sex.”
“Not like this.” The admission comes out sharper, louder than intended. I glance at the other patrons, looking to see who’s watching us. “This was different,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Different how?”
I stare at the table, tracing the pattern in the laminate with my finger. How do I explain that being with Darian felt like coming home to a place I’ve never been? That the wayhe touched me, looked at me, made me feel like I was worth worshipping instead of just using?
“It just was.”
Jovie sets down her cup hard enough to make the table shake. “You know what? I’m tired of this.”
“Tired of what?”
“Tired of watching you punish yourself for wanting things. Tired of pretending like you don’t deserve good things in your life. Tired of you acting like being happy is some kind of betrayal.”
Her words sting. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it?” She leans forward, voice dropping to the tone she uses when she’s done being patient. “From the moment he walked into The Songbird, you’ve been captivated by him. Maybe it’s the way he smiles, or the brooding rocker look that has you all giddy. Either way, if you got yours, who cares.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.” Jovie lifts her shoulder as if sleeping with someone who could be considered a random stranger is no big deal.
I open my mouth and close it again, because how do I explain that letting him see me naked felt more vulnerable than any song I’ve ever written? How do I tell her that every time I let someone close enough to touch my body, they end up taking pieces of my soul I can’t afford to lose?
“I need to get back to work.” I start gathering my papers, shoving them into my bag without organizing them.
“Running away won’t fix this.”
“I’m not running away. I’m protecting my business.”
“From what? From someone who might actually give a damn about more than just getting between your legs?”
The question stops me cold because it cuts too close to truth I’m not ready to examine. I finish packing my laptop and stand, tossing bills on the table for my untouched meal.
“Tell Gus I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Rye—”
