The bathroom door opens, and Jax emerges in sweatpants and a fitted T-shirt that should be illegal. His hair is damp and messy, and he smells like soap and something masculine and clean. I take another sip of wine as I try not to stare at the muscles daring to escape through the fabric of his shirt.
“Ready?” I ask, patting the couch beside me. Trying to sound normal. Trying not to think about what I had heard. Trying not to imagine ...
Wine. More wine will help.
He settles onto the couch, maintaining a careful distance. Professional distance. See? He’s just doing his job. Being polite. I hit play on the movie and take another sip. The wine is going down easily. Too easily. I don’t think the soup was enough for dinner to soak up all this wine.
Oh well.
The movie starts. Small town baker. Big city executive. Instant chemistry. Predictable plot. Exactly what I need. Except I can’t focus. I can’t stop being aware of Jax beside me. The way he laughs at the jokes. The way he makes comments under his breath about the unrealistic timeline. The way his presence seems to fill the small space. I refill my wine glass. Then refill it again.
“Are you okay?” Jax asks, glancing at me with concern.
“I’m great. Perfect. Never better.” The words come out too fast. Too bright. Slightly slurred.
“How much have you had to drink?” he questions me.
“Not enough.” I laugh, but it sounds wrong even to my own ears. “Or maybe too much. Hard to tell.”
“Maybe you should slow down,” he says.
That remark triggers something inside me and I lash out. “Maybe you should mind your business.”
Silence falls between us. Shit. He was just trying to be nice. And here I am being a bitch.
He holds up his hand in surrender. “You’re right. Just trying to make sure you don’t hate yourself tomorrow.”
“Too late for that.” I take another sip. “I have been hating myself since I walked in on my fiancé screwing his assistant on our kitchen counter.”
The words hang in the air. Too honest. Too raw. Too much.
“Sloane ...”
“You know what the worst part is?” I continue because, apparently, wine makes me chatty. “It’s not even the cheating. I mean, it is. But it’s more that I wasn’t even surprised. Deep down, I knew something was off. I just ignored it. Ignored all the signs because I was so desperate to make it work. To be the perfect girlfriend. Perfect fiancée. To prove I could do it right.” I hiccup.
“You did not do anything wrong.” His voice is gentle. “He cheated. That is on him.”
“But I chose him. I ignored my gut. I made myself smaller to fit into his life. I gave up my dreams for a marketing degree because he said it was more practical to take a job I hated because it looked good on paper. I became someone I did not even recognize because I thought that was what love meant.” Tears stream down my face.
“That is not love. That is losing yourself. And that is not your fault,” he says softly.
“He cheated on me for six months. And who knows how many other times over the years that I never caught him doing. Six months while we were planning our wedding. While I was picking out flowers and cake flavors and trying on dresses. How pathetic is that?”
“It is not pathetic. It means you trusted him. That is not a flaw.”
“It feels like a flaw.” I grab the wine bottle, but Jax gently takes it from my hand.
“I think you have had enough.” Those hazel eyes look at me with pity. Of course they are, look at me, I’m pathetic.
“I think I’ve not had nearly enough.” But I do not fight him. Just slump back against the couch. “Please don’t pity me.”
“I don’t pity you, Sloane, far from it.”
I roll my eyes. He most certainly does. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because I think you deserve it right now.”
“You don’t even know me.” I pout.
