Until her head tips slightly toward me.
Until she falls asleep.
And just like that, the night goes quiet.
I stay there a moment longer than I should, listening to her breathe, like moving too soon might break something.
Then my phone buzzes and reality pulls me back. It’s Mom, telling me to come home. God, it got late.
I ease off the couch carefully, making sure not to wake her, grab my things, and lock the door behind me when I leave.
Before I step out, I send her a quick text—telling her the key is in her mailbox.
EIGHTEEN
Jenna
Iwant to die of embarrassment.
First, I basically butt-dialed Colton King and he threw my ex-boyfriend out of my apartment. Next, I ugly cried next to him all night and fell asleep. It’s over. RIP my life.
“Should we label this one ‘Emotional Baggage’ or ‘Shit He Never Used?’” Isla asks, holding up Matthew’s juicer—a Christmas gift from his mother three years ago that was used exactly twice.
“Both,” I say, tossing in the protein powder he swore would change his life. “Put it with the other aspirational purchases.” We pack hisMagic: The Gatheringcards, his old towels he wanted to keep because he can’t throw away old ugly stuff, his games, and whatnot.
We figured it’s easier if I pack it all up and put it in front of my door for him to pick it up. I don’t want any contact with him. Colton and Isla are right. I had to put up with too much over the last few years. I’m done, and after days of crying and pitying myself, I feel like a human being again. I can do this. I just don’t know how to face Colton ever again, and we do have anotherhearing in a few days. Like I said… I want to die. Maybe just on the spot. Right here.
“Sooooo,” Isla singsongs, plopping down on a box beside me with a thud. “Russian hockey god. Your apartment. All night. Spill!”
I chuck a throw pillow at her face. “You know he’s my client, I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Those biceps though?” She flexes dramatically, nearly knocking over a box of Matthew’s stuff. “I’d let hockey god bench press me any day.”
“His name is Colton,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks heat up. “And it was embarrassing. I cried all over his probably thousand-dollar shirt.”
Isla reaches for the bottle of wine on the coffee table—the good stuff. I’d been saving for a special occasion. We both agreed that packing up my ex’s junk qualifies.
“If anyone at work finds out he stayed over, I’m toast,” I groan, accepting the overfilled glass she hands me.
“Oh please, it’s not like it’s illegal,” she says, we toast on leaving my ex and both take a sip. “You can date your clients.’ Maybe it breaks some ancient ethical code that everyone forgot about centuries ago’. It’s not the law.” She glances at me over the rim of her glass. “Besides, the whole internet is already shipping you two like it’s their full-time job. There’s literally a hashtag. #Coltenna.”
I nearly choke. “There is not!”
Isla giggles. Oh no, what now? “There is, and okay, okay, I might have floated the idea on my podcast last week. But trust me, the comments section went wild for it within hours.”
“You guys are beyond annoying. Ben literally told me to ‘lean into it’ too when I mentioned Matthew and I broke up. Apparently, the publicity is ‘great for business ‘and we’re getting new clients out of it.”
Isla’s eyes grow wide as saucers. “See? Even your BOSS wants you to fuck Hockey McHottie? This is the best day ever!”
“That isnotwhat he said,” I protest, but I’m already laughing despite myself.
“It’s what we all want. Please, Jenna, fuck Colton King.”
“I won’t.”
Isla rolls her eyes and snatches another handful of Matthew’s shirts, flinging them into the box like they’re about to explode. There’s no folding, no second thoughts and I love her for it.
“I know you want to. You never let it out but you’re a dirty little bitch if you want to be.”
