Jake’s eyes flash with genuine hurt.
He steps back, but I’m past caring about his ego.
“You call me Jackpot? Antonio is the jackpot. The real deal. Every second he gives me is the luckiest goddamn second of my life.”
I take Antonio’s hand and lead him away, but the second we stop, he recoils and yanks his hand free. He stares right ahead, his posture rigid.
“He was no one,” I say, my voice pleading. “Antonio, please. Look at me.”
He looks so hurt. I can’t stand it. I don’t know how to make it hurt less for him. He presses his lips together, trying to stop the wobble.
“You broke a bed with… no one?”
I take a deep breath.
“It was months ago. I didn’t even remember his name.”
I realize it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words leave my lips.
“Makes sense,” he says, his voice thick. “Considering there’ve been hundreds, right?”
“Don’t.”
“Thousands?”
“Please stop.”
I’m terrified he’ll never look at me as Caspian again. Only as the Jackpot.
“Oh, I’m stopping,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m stopping THIS.”
He gestures wildly between us.
Then he stomps off. Literally stomps, each step a heavy, punctuated fuck-you.
I stare after him.
What the fuck should I do now? Apparently my ability to soothe my boyfriend is non-fucking-existent when I’m the reason he’s hurting.
Then I snap out of it and catch up with the tiny ball of fury marching down the street.
He ignores me until he whirls around, hissing.
“If you try to walk with me, I’ll walk FASTER.”
“Antonio, my legs are longer than you are tall.”
I tried to lighten the mood, but judging from the way he inhales like he’s about to dive underwater, I failed.
“DID YOU JUST CALL ME SMALL?”
“I—well yes—I mean, you aren’t exactly—”
“WOW. Mocking my size!” He throws his hands up. “It’s not like I could magically undergo a growth spurt to please the mighty Jackpot!”
“Sweetheart, I wasn’t mocking your size. At least I didn’t mean to.”
My voice is reaching a level of desperation that is completely foreign to me.
