The words fumble out of my mouth as I try and process the picture in front of me. Two weeks filled with repeat images of Jagger whispering in my mouth just to see him draped in another woman’s limbs and lips stings more than it should.

“Did you just see a ghost?” Taylah asks.

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.

“You better tell me before I turn around and make a scene,” she threatens.

My brain and mouth don’t work together fast enough, and Taylah turns around to see what’s caught my attention.

“Holy fuck, is that Jagger? That’s Jagger isn’t it.”

“Can we please not do this here,” I say through clenched teeth.

“You said he was hot; you didn’t say he was sex on legs.” She has one more glance before her focus returns to me. “And there’s fucking two of them,” she squeals.

“Taylah keep your voice down.”

“Who’s the girl?” she asks, finally registering the reason for my annoyance.

“His girlfriend?”

“She wishes,” she scoffs while shaking her head. “He can barely handle her touching him.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me.”

“You’ve got those self sabotaging glasses on again,” she says, waving me off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, when you associate something negative with every good thing that could potentially happen to you.”

“I do not do that.”

“Whatever, let’s talk about how he’s looking at you. If looks could make you orgasm, that look would be it.”

I sneak one more glance while she rambles, and it becomes the final nail in the coffin. I can’t watch someone else touch him, whether he wants her to or not.

Throwing my napkin on the table, I rise from my seat. “I need a timeout.”

Pushing the bathroom door with vigor, I rush in and head into a stall. Flipping the seat down, I drop and concentrate on taking steady breaths, trying to calm myself. The chances of seeing Jagger again were slim to none, and now he’s here in the flesh. I’m wishing he stayed locked up in my memories. Unblemished and effortless, where there was nobody else but me and him.

Fuck. I can’t hide in here forever. I walk out to the basins, and turn the cold water on. Wetting my hands, I cool my cheeks and the back of my neck before I have to face him and his friend.

I swing the door open, only to be greeted by a nervous Jagger. Stopping in the doorway, my feet freeze. I’m stunned he followed me. I peruse his body out of his prison greens. His exercise regime clearly hasn’t faltered since he’s been out. I want to tell him to turn around so I can forget the uncomfortable sight of that woman vying for his attention, but I don’t say anything. Because I can’t.

“Em,” he says, his voice cracked and needy. “That wasn’t what you think.”

I press my palm to his chest. “Jagger, you don’t owe me an explanation.”

His hand covers mine, radiating warmth and honesty. “Maybe not, but I still feel like I should give it to you.”

“I don’t need to hear it,” I cut him off. “I’m happy to see you out, spending time with Hendrix, and other people.”

“And other people, huh? You didn’t look too happy,” he challenges.

I try to move my hand but he keeps it there, securing me to him.

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” The words are laced with surprise and wonder, echoing my own thoughts. His fingers reach up, tenderly pushing my hair behind my ear, his simple displays of affection thawing me out. People pass by, mumbling disapprovingly at the two of us, ignoring the world and taking up space in the confined corridor.  “I don’t know if I can walk away from you a second time.”

Our gazes hold, his brown eyes more lively than I’ve seen before. “Yes, you can.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve got more important stuff to do. Twelve years of life you need to catch up on. Don’t let two random moments distract you.”

“They already do,” he concedes. “I think of you more than I should.”

“That makes two of us.”

“So, why are we walking away from one another?” he questions.

“It’s not our time.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth. We could try, but it feels selfish to want him.

“Maybe in the next life?”

I lean in and kiss the side of his mouth. “You won’t be able to keep me away.” Stepping away from him, my smile is bittersweet as I realise it’s my turn to leave. Walking back to the dining room, I ignore the voices shouting at me to look back. Just one more glimpse will leave me powerless, unable to find the strength to say no, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Returning to the table, Taylah watches my every move.

“I expected you to walk out a little more happier than that.”

“Can we go please?” I urge.

“He hightailed after you, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me you didn’t blow him off because of that chick.” She sounds exasperated, failing to understand my side of the story.

“No. I blew him off because the timing is off.”

“Whose timing? He’s fucking crazy about you.”

“He’ll get over it.” The possibility my own words could become a reality hurts my heart.

“I saw his face break when you ran to the bathroom. That man isn’t forgetting about you anytime soon.”

I can’t listen to her anymore. “I’m going,” I announce abruptly. “I’ll call you later.”

Scurrying away, I notice Hendrix staring at me, confusion and questions written all over his face. Jagger hasn’t returned, and I’m grateful for the reprieve to walk out unnoticed. It’s better this way. I’m doing the right thing, no matter how wrong it feels.

* * *

“I picked up ice cream on my way. Cookies and Cream for you and Boysenberry for me.” Taylah walks into my apartment like she owns the place. She throws her keys and bag on my dining room table, then heads to the kitchen to put away whatever she bought for girls night.

“I see you’re getting used to using the key I gave you.”

“Stop complaining. I just stopped you from having to get your arse off that couch.” I hear her opening and closing my kitchen cupboards, her huffing an indication she can’t find what she’s looking for.

“You okay?”

“Aha, found it,” she squeals. “I’m making pancakes. How many do you want?”

“Is that a trick question? You know it’s my favourite food.”

“I know. I got a lot of your favourite things.” Pouring all the ingredients into a mixing bowl, she walks out stirring it all together. “Everything to coerce you into telling me exactly what happened with Jagger.”

“Ugh, why won’t you let that go?”

“You like this guy, the guy also happens to like you, and you’re moping like it’s an unrequited crush. It’s not, and I’m trying to get to the bottom of why you’re not pursuing it.”

“Well if you didn’t bring whipped cream, I’m not talking.”

“You underestimate me, Emerson. Sort out that shit inside your head, because I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, and you need to spill.” She turns back into the kitchen, and the clanging of pans and cooking utensils can be heard as she begins to cook.

I flick on the TV and switch it over to Netflix. I have three more episodes of Santa Clarita Diet to finish in preparation for the next season. Getting lost in some cannibalism seems like a great way to avoid the impending conversation.

We sit around my coffee table, stuffing our faces with a buffet of dessert options. I’ve got to give it to Taylah, her silence builds the anticipation. Thinking of what to say has the words at the tip of my tongue, bursting at the seams to escape.

“Is it because he has a criminal record?”

Choking on my wine, my eyes water, my vision blurring. Taylah hits my back a few times, the coughing eventually stops.

“I can’t believe you think that of me,” I say, both stunned and offended.

“I don’t, but that’s the only reason I can think of.”

“It’s not about what he did. It’s what he needs to do now that he’s out. He doesn’t need to be worrying about anything besides making up for lost time with his family,” I clarify.

“He’s had twelve years where his decisions have been made for him. I don’t think it’s fair you’re taking this one away from him too.”

Like a hammer to the heart, her comment hurts. Not once did I think of it like that. I wouldn’t ever want to take away his freedom of choice, but that doesn’t mean I think pursuing something between us is the right one. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“I’m not saying it’s intentional. I’m just giving you an objective opinion.” Picking up the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, she pours us both a generous amount, fuelling for the next round of her argument.

“You don’t think it’s weird to meet someone a handful of times, and have no idea why you’re interested in them?”

“I don’t understand how you think relationships start. Boy and girl meet, they’re attracted to one another, they pursue attraction. I didn’t say you were going to marry the guy and have his damn babies, but you could at least fuck him.”

“Taylah,” I yell.

“What? You think he wants to swap dinner recipes?”

“He might,” I say softly. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. We agreed this wasn’t our time.”

“You mean you told him it wasn’t, and he agreed?” There’s no denying Taylah found her calling in law. She could argue her point underwater.

“He didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“Again, just my objective, yet slightly professional opinion. The guy has just come out of jail, he’s got an education he can’t use, a curfew that means he can never take you out, and he’s probably taking his provisional licence test as we speak, in order to start driving. All of this at the age of thirty--I wouldn’t think I was good enough for anybody else either.” She quickly grabs some M&M Peanuts and throws them in her mouth before continuing, “You have nothing in common yet you bumped into each other. How do you say no to the universe?”

Rolling my eyes at her, I reach for my wine glass and let the crisp liquid ease my doubts.

“No.” She points her finger at me. ”Don’t do that. You’re twenty-eight years old, and you’re effortlessly beautiful. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“It doesn’t work out,” I state obviously.

“That happened with your last boyfriend, and you survived didn’t you?”

“Why are we even friends?” I snit. “I can’t even contact him. He doesn’t have a phone number.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Emerson. Where there’s a will there’s a way.” She reaches over and swipes my phone from the coffee table. As she types in my passcode, I regret the day I gave her access to my life.

“What are you doing?”

“I knew you’d have it in here.” Turning the screen to face me, I see Hendrix’s contact info on the screen. “Ask him for Jagger’s number.”

“No.”

“I’m giving you one chance to word this message yourself; otherwise, I will. Which one will it be?”

“Anyone tell you you’re a fucking bully?” I snatch the phone from her and stare at the open message. “I hate you. Seriously, fucking. Hate. You.”

“You’ll get over it,” she says with certainty. “I’m not going to sit by and let you miss out on what could be the greatest thing in your life.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Hey, at least you got to fuck a hot guy.”