CHAPTER NINETEEN

She couldn’t believe the bastard ditched her. All too clear that’s exactly what had gone down. No fooling herself otherwise.

Stomach queasy—both from the situation and the eight or so cups of coffee she’d inhaled in the last two hours—she paced in front of the kitchen island. Probably a good thing she’d put off coming downstairs. Otherwise she’d be on her second pot of coffee and really bouncing off the walls.

The smoking turd on top of this whole heap of shit? The goddamn jackass took her keys and purse. Unlike him, she couldn’t leave—a slight problem, considering she had less than ninety minutes before she was due at work. Fortunately she already had her clothes and makeup, otherwise it’d be one more thing she’d give him fucking hell over.

What could he possibly have been doing for the last eight hours? When she’d first heard him sneak out she’d assumed he’d needed time to himself. Understandable. She’d been equally desperate for a little space to clear the nasty brew of anxiety in her head.

Last night, after he’d said her name, she’d held her breath, her nerves duking it out in a boxing match as she steeled herself for whatever was about to come out of his mouth. Either he was going to tell her he loved her too or that he never wanted to see her again. As the minute stretched closer to the territory of freakin’ forever, the cramp in her chest had intensified until she couldn’t deny which direction he was likely headed with his words. So she’d faked being asleep. Again. Judging from how long he’d been gone, safe bet she’d guessed correctly.

Stalling next to the counter, she plunked her cup down and dragged in a shuddery breath. Her eyes stung, her chest felt like it was filled with cement, and her stomach had decided to take on a side gig as a maniacal butter churn. Much as she longed to blame those lovely side effects on caffeine overkill the true culprit lay buried in her heart.

She was losing Jack.

Like the disgusting, pushy bastards they were, tears blurred her vision, threatening to get the better of her. She refused to cave. What good did crying do? Absolutely nothing beyond making her resemble a damn raccoon.

The annoying as shit part? She had no one to blame but herself. She’d fallen in love with a man who’d emphatically stated he didn’t do relationships and commitments. And if words weren’t good enough, he’d validated them with his actions. He’d walked away from her eighteen months ago. There was zero doubt he was doing it to her again. Sex wouldn’t keep him tied to her forever. Furthermore—and she couldn’t believe such a concept would have the audacity to infiltrate her mind—she didn’t want a relationship based solely on bumping nasties. It was another despicable epiphany she’d landed on in the wee hours of the morning...which only proved that any thought occurring in the vicinity of three a.m. was a troublemaking asshole.

In theory, the sex should be enough to sustain her. The way they burned the sheets up together? Their kind of chemistry didn’t come around often. Once upon a time, she would have bitch slapped her own damn self for wanting more than the sex. What kind of idiot ruined a good thing by bringing squicky emotions into the picture?

This idiot. Shoulders slumping, she white-knuckled the counter. She’d brought her heart into the equation and now she was fucked. Or done being fucked. An equally miserable outcome to contemplate.

What other choice did she have though? Even if by some miracle Jack stuck around for the sex, it wouldn’t be enough for her, and the odds of her not blurting out the damnable L word again were about as likely as her giving up chocolate and excessive swearing. As it was, last night’s wild headboard-banging session had felt a little too uncomfortably close to being a strategic mission on his end. How many orgasms before she cracked?

It was a test she was destined to lose.

“Front door open.”

Although she’d been waiting for that freaky computerized voice, hearing it now nearly catapulted her out of her skin. Partly because it was fucking freaky and unexpected, but mostly due to there being only one person who could have unlocked the door...and she had no damn idea what she was going to say to him. She’d blanked on the mile-long list of grievances, curses, and general aspersions against his character the instant the alert sounded. Always the damn way.

Desperately needing something to do with her hands—other than clobber him—she grabbed her coffee mug. The soft scuff of his soles on the tile marked his approach, and then he was there in the archway—gorgeous, haggard, and everything she’d ever wanted, forever out of her reach.

He wore the same clothes from last night. Torn between admiration and fury that he could look thoroughly scrumptious even with severe bedhead and bloodshot eyes, she gulped a swig of her tepid coffee and glowered at him.

“You’re mad.”

“Why would you ever have that crazy idea?”

His focus dropped to the mug in her hand. “You’re holding that like you’re measuring heft and trajectory paths. I’m assuming the final destination is my head.”

He might have a valid concern if her hand wasn’t trembling so much. No point wasting a perfectly good cup of coffee if she couldn’t land her target.

His gaze wary, he chanced a step closer. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t intended to be gone all night.”

She felt inclined to point out the obvious. “And half the morning.”

He winced in acknowledgment and dropped his keys and her purse on the corner of the island. She stared at the metal fob on his keyring, the hollow in her chest expanding. “Where did you go?” She didn’t want to care enough to ask the question. Didn’t want to wonder, or have this sick sensation inside as she mulled over the possibilities. Was he with another woman? Did he seek out someone else to push her away for good and make it easier for him to break it off?

She didn’t want to be this person. The one with insecurities and suspicions. Nearly as gross as being the suffocating clinger in a relationship. Especially when they didn’t even have a relationship, for fuck’s sake. Swallowing the thick lump of misery in her throat, she forced herself to look him in the eye. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

“No, it is to you. And you have every right to ask.”

His calmness rankled. “You’re assuming a lot, don’t you think? Maybe I don’t give a crap. Maybe I’d be fine with you banging a bevy of crack hoes you picked up off of Eight Mile.”

Rather than appear offended, amusement tipped one corner of his mouth. It only infuriated her further. “Don’t you dare smirk at me like I’m being ridiculous, you son of a bitch.”

“You don’t honestly believe I’d pick up crack hoes.”

“Fine. Meth hoes.”

He tweaked the bridge of his nose between his fingers and gusted a sigh. “Let me take a shower and then we’ll talk about this.”

She thunked her cup down onto the counter with enough force some of the coffee splashed over the side and puddled on the granite top. “I told you I don’t care.”

“Why are you being a stubborn liar?”

“Because that’s what I do, Jack. Haven’t you fucking figured that out by now? I’m such a damn liar, I had to flame retardant my entire wardrobe. In fact, you shouldn’t believe a goddamn thing that comes out of my mouth. Ever.”

He dropped his hand and returned her squint. “Where are you going with this?”

“No need to play coy. You know exactly where I’m going with this.” The crazy thing? She hadn’t quite known where she was going with it when the provocation first whipped out of her mouth. But her mind was quickly veering in the same direction his obviously was, and there was no damn way she wasn’t going to go there. Bruised pride and a killer survival mode were catalysts that’d make her try just about anything.

He was deathly quiet for an endless moment. His expression tight, he shook his head. “You weren’t lying about being in love with me. Even you aren’t that good of a bullshitter.”

She wished with everything inside her she was. She wished she could swallow her own desperate lies and believe she didn’t love him. Then she could go back to being the old Jane—the one who’d never give her heart away, and especially not to a man even more afraid of commitment than her.

Convincing either of them that she didn’t love him was likely a pipe dream. But there was one thing she had no qualms being honest about. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Wariness etched his tired features. “What are you saying?”

He knew the drill. Hell, he probably wrote the fucking handbook. Only her version was slightly different than his. “I won’t settle for a man who can’t say the words back. I deserve a fuck load better than that.” She snatched her purse and made fast tracks for the exit. The pressure squeezing her heart an agony she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy, she paused in the archway and took a deep, painful breath. “We should stay friends though.”

With that necessary disclaimer out of the way, she walked away from the only man who’d ever managed to destroy her completely.