“Yup. Let’s grab the check and get out of here. You got all dressed up for me, I wouldn’t want to waste it.”
We’re lying in Jason’s bed watching one of the Bond movies; it’s nice lying together. About twenty minutes in, he’s kissing my neck and I find myself still focused on the movie. This is his signature move. If I don’t seize the opportunity of half-assed foreplay now, I’ll end up watching James Bond getmybirthday sex—while I celebrate at home with a cupcake and a vibrator.
“You should take off that dress,” he whispers. “Grab a condom.”
They’re in the drawer of the nightstand on my side. I roll over while he nudges down his boxers and strokes his dick.
My back stiffens when I grab the box—it’s empty.
The fuck?
It was at least half full the last time we had sex.
The voice that comes out of my mouth sounds hollow. “Why are you out of condoms?”
“Huh?” He keeps jacking off as if nothing’s wrong. “I dunno. Who cares, you’re on birth control, right?”
“Jason, the box is empty. There were at least a dozen in here last time we had sex. Where did they go?”
He’s clearly used them, and not with me. Sure, my schedule has been crazy lately, and we haven’t had a ton of time together, but we agreed to be exclusive.
He pauses and shrugs. “I dunno. Are you sure the box didn’t just tip over?”
My fingers probe the empty drawer. “No, you are out.”
“Well, I didn’t use them!”
“So, you just threw away all of our condoms, then?” He lives alone, it’s not like a roommate walked in and took them.
“Well, no, but?—”
“Are you sleeping with other people?” I ask.
“Of course not!”
I blink at him. “Then where did they go?”
“I don’t fucking know!”
Is this really happening?
Burying my face in my palms, I push back the tears, then scoot off the bed and straighten my dress. “I want you to drive me home.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes!” I shout at him. He’s too good at lying. His surprise is almost genuine, except it doesn’t explain the missing condoms. I can’t ignore the facts sitting right in front of me.
The ride to my house is completely silent. I spared a glance at him once, and he looked even more mad than I was, as if this is allmyfault andI’mbeing an inconvenience.Unreal.I’m done. Clearly I judged this situation all wrong.
Mentally, I catalog all the items I might have left at Jason’s house, and thankfully, it’s nothing important because I’m never going back. My bottom lip trembles.Twenty-six sucks.
As soon as he pulls into my driveway, I pop the door handle and out topples a pink velvet scrunchie.That’s definitely not mine.I crouch down, pick it up, and stare at the object that doesn’t belong to me.
I look him right in the eye . . . and I don’t see myself. Logan was right, I’ve been chasing the version of him I want to see, but that’s not who he is.
The scrunchie bounces off his chest when I hurl it at him. “We’re done,” I say calmly, then slam the car door and march toward the back entrance of my house.
“Fine, fuck you, then!” His shout is muffled through the windshield. “Enjoy your fucking necklace!”
