Jonah’s jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. “So you’re just... taking the charade further?” He shakes his head. “A fake engagement now?”
I take another sip of my martini. “Look, Maisie’s health is improving. The doctors say her positive outlook is helping. If she thinks her grandson is happy and settled, maybe it’s worth—”
“This isn’t about Maisie anymore,” Jonah cuts me off, his voice sharp. “Is it?”
The question lands like a slap. I busy myself with the menu, though I already know exactly what I’m ordering.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, a lie so transparent I can practically see Jonah’s bullshit detector flashing red.
“Have you fallen for him?”
Five simple words that feel like a wrecking ball to my carefully constructed denial. I keep my eyes on the menu, reading the description of ribeye steak for the third time without absorbing a single word.
“It’s... complicated,” I say finally, setting the menu down. “We’ve been living together, pretending to be a couple. Lines get blurry.”
“Lines get blurry,” Jonah repeats, his expression darkening. “That’s what you’re going with?”
The server returns, saving me. We order—lobster and steak for me, just as promised, and the same for Jonah, though I doubt he’ll eat much of it given his current mood.
When we’re alone again, I try to organize my thoughts into something resembling coherence, but how do I explain what’s happened with Brooks when I barely understand it myself?
“Look, yes, we’ve gotten closer,” I admit. “We actually get along when we’re not trying to one-up each other. He’s different from what I thought—gentler, funnier. He makes amazing chicken parmesan, which I know you know.”
“Syd,” Jonah’s voice has an edge.
“And he’s good with Maisie—so patient with her, even on her bad days. He helps me practice for broadcasts, gives me insider perspectives on plays.” I’m rambling now, words tumbling out faster than I can control them. “We talk, likereallytalk. About everything. Dreams, fears, childhood stuff. Did you know how intense his dad is about his hockey training? That’s why he’s always pushed so hard. It wasn’t just ego—”
“Oh my god,” Jonah interrupts, staring at me with something between horror and pity. “You’ve fallen for him.”
“No,” I protest, but the words ring hollow. My heart pounds traitorously in my chest.
Jonah studies me, seeing through my denial with the ease of someone who’s known me since before I had teeth. “Yes.”
I take another swig of my martini. “Fine. Maybe I have feelings for him. Is that so terrible? He’s your best friend. Shouldn’t you be thrilled?”
“No. I’m sorry, Syd, you can’t go there with him.” His voice is cold, definitive.
Then indignation floods in, hot and defensive.
“Are you serious?” I lean forward, lowering my voice to an intense whisper. “If this is about the San Francisco twins and the Vegas strippers, I don’t care.” A flush creeps up my neck as I add, “I’ve slept with men and your teammate—”
Jonah puts a hand up, his expression pained. “Stop, Jesus! The visuals.” He lowers his hand. “It’s not that, anyway.”
“Then what is it?” I press, genuinely baffled. “If it’s not the sleeping around, then what?”
He hesitates, his jaw clenching like he’s measuring his words, weighing what he wants to say. “You don’t know the half of it.”
The arrival of our appetizers—calamari—provides a momentary distraction, but I’m not letting this go. As soon as the server retreats, I’m back on the offensive.
Jonah doesn’t touch the food. “Brooks can never be that guy for you.”
“What does that even mean?” I push a piece of calamari around my plate, appetite evaporating. “He’s already that guy for me—”
“He’s not,” Jonah cuts in. “Trust me when I tell you that getting involved with him will only end in heartbreak.Yourheartbreak.”
A cold dread settles in my stomach. “What the hell are you talking about, Jonah? What could possibly be so terrible that you’re acting like he’s radioactive?”
Jonah rubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. “It’s complicated, Syd. There are things going on with him you don’t understand.”
