Page 36 of A Song for You

I stash that insecurity away, deciding to grab a drink and text Jay.

Taking a page from Sophie’s book, I copy her moves from when we first arrived and manage to squeeze my way through to the bar. I order my absolute favorite drink, a dirty martini, and shimmy a little when they have the blue cheese olives I love. I lift up my phone to snap a picture of myself holding my drink when I spot Jay across the bar with a blonde on either side of him.

It takes me a minute to process what I’m seeing. When my brain makes sense of the scene, rage rushes through my veins like hot oil, making me feel like I want to jump out of my skin. My stomach turns, and my heart squeezes, making it hard to breathe.

Fuck him for making me feel this way.

And fuck me for allowing anyone to let me feel this way again.

I turn around and take a picture, making sure to capture my drink, my smile, and the evidence of who he really is—a player, just as I suspected—and text it to him before I can chicken out.

I quickly grab the song that’s been playing through my mind the last few days as I tried to figure out who he really was. Then I send him a link in another message so he’ll understand exactly where we stand.

I down my drink in one gulp, shoot Sophie a text that I had an emergency, and book it out of the club.

So much for being seen.

Twenty

Jay

Complicated by Avril Lavigne

Ismile when Kitten flashes across the screen of my phone where it sits on the bar in front of me. Finally, she’s reaching out to me. It’s a small gesture, but it confirms what I was feeling this afternoon. We’re on the same page. It’s not all in my head. She wants this too.

I smile as I see the picture of her drink and those fucking lips that I can’t wait to bite down on. Before I can respond, a second message comes in.

“Complicated” by Avril Lavigne.

Squinting, I try to recall the lyrics, but with the beat in the club, I can’t conjure them. I excuse myself from Kelly and her friend, promising to return. I have no intention of going back. They followed me to the bar when I tried to ditch them before. They can’t seem to take a hint. I’ll grab a cab when I get outside and hopefully find out where Cat is.

I hit play on the song and drag it to my ear as soon as I’m outside. The bouncer sees me and motions that he’ll flag a cab. I nod in appreciation as the music starts.

It doesn’t take long for me to realize this isn’t a love song. Fuck. She’s clearly pissed off about something.

I’m a fool? How the fuck am I acting like anyone else?

What the fuck?

I scroll back up to the picture, and that’s when I see it. Me. Looking like a fucking fool with two blondes hanging all over me.

Fuck.

Twenty-One

Jay

Don’t Dream It’s Over by Crowded House

Icalled Cat at least twenty times on Friday night, knowing damn well her phone was turned off. I planned to show up at her apartment Saturday morning, but my father summoned me, citing an emergency that wouldn’t keep.

Even the view of the Boston Seaport from my father’s apartment doesn’t loosen the tension pulling at every one of my muscles. I’ve never particularly liked this space, and after yesterday, I find myself comparing it to the penthouse owned by the Jameses. Somehow, this apartment is more pretentious. More ostentatious. Just more.

And I fucking hate that thought.

Is that how my mother felt? Did the James family entice her more than her own? Was it more than the affair? Was their lifestyle intriguing to her too? Did she long for children who behaved like Carter and Cash? Carter has a sister, too, though I’ve never met her. But I imagine my mother would have liked having a daughter. Did she compare their picture-perfect life to ours and determine that we didn’t measure up?

I didn’t measure up.