I spend the rest of the day avoiding Jax like he has the Ebola virus. After lunch, someone knocks on the front door, and an Amazonian-looking supermodel saunters in. She doesn’t bother telling anyone hi. Instead, she heads straight to Jax and drops into his lap, making a point to tongue him up in front of a room full of people.

The guys love the show, and they hoot and holler like she’s doling out free lap dances. Clem, who seems to have recovered from her earlier embarrassment, rolls her eyes and makes a gagging sound. I’m starting to like her more and more.

And, yeah, I’m painfully and ridiculously jealous.

On the way home, I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the seat. The purr of the car is strangely soothing. I can’t wait to get home so I can die an appropriate death alone. All I can think of is how he kissed that girl back and how his lips must have felt.

“Can you believe my brother?” Clem asks, breaking into my misery.

I stiffen immediately. I don’t think I’m in a position to say anything so I keep my mouth shut.

She continues without any encouragement. “Why can’t he grow up and stop being such a slut? That girl was skeevy.”

“I think I’ve seen her in a Calvin Klein ad,” Jenna says.

Ugh. That’s where I recognize her from.

If I ever thought there was a chance in hell he’d be interested in me, today shot down that delusion. Of course he loves bombshells. What guy doesn’t? I’m Midwest and corn-fed. She’s runway and underfed. She probably survives on two carrots and a twig a day.

Tears brim my eyes, and I blink them away quickly. I don’t know why I want to cry. I set out for a one-night hookup and that’s what I got. The problem is I know this guy, and I’ll probably have to see him around.

At least he goes to Boston College. That’s far enough away. It’s better than seeing him around campus. That’s another freakish twist of luck. On the night of his birthday, he was hanging out in BU territory. Under normal circumstances, our paths would probably never cross.

Except I did see him at that pizza place first.

I talk myself in a dizzying circle, trying to make sense of the whole situation.

Eventually, I come to a conclusion. I’ll avoid him. Plain and simple. How hard could that be?

* * *

The next afternoon, Travis is waiting for me at work with a mocha and a bear hug. I throw my backpack behind the desk and collapse into a chair.

“Thanks for the drink.”

I take a sip and let the caffeine settle into my body. I’m exhausted. Although I went to bed early last night, I tossed around for hours before I finally fell asleep.

Travis nudges me and motions toward the computer screen in front of him. I roll my chair closer to his cubicle. “I think you need to see who you let lick your lady garden.”

I close my eyes, hoping no one heard us, but some guy next to us chuckles. I smack Travis in the arm, and he laughs.

Finally, I focus on the website he’s pulled up. Staring back at me is the object of my contempt and affection.

Jax Avery.

“What is this?” I’m glad I’m sitting down.

“Gossip website.” Travis pokes my knee. “Did you have any idea he’s, like, a bazillionaire?”

I shake my head, still trying to process the image in front of me. In the photo, Jax is walking up to a red sports car. The marquee for Cages is in the background. “It was taken last Saturday.”

The caption reads, “Playboy and heir to the Avery fortune parties it up at Cages before some fun on the town with Calvin Klein model Natasha Kozlov.”

“Oh,” Travis says as he scrolls through his phone. “It’s all over Twitter too.” He shows me the screen.

Dear God. The man went down on me and then ran off to hook up with a supermodel. No wonder he didn’t want to sleep with me! Why have a hamburger when you can down steak and lobster with a side order of shrimp?

I burrow my head into Travis’s chest, and his arm wraps around me.

“This is so fucking humiliating,” I mumble against him.

Travis strokes my hair. “No one knows. It’s fine. Next time you see him, keep pretending you don’t care because as far as he knows, you don’t.”

I nod because I can’t bring myself to talk. After a while, Travis releases me from his embrace, and I look around to make sure no one is paying attention. Fortunately, everyone is working at their cubicles.

Travis bumps me with his elbow. “I have one word to get you over this Jax bullshit: Brady Shepherd.”

“Those are two words. And who the hell is Brady Shepherd?”

He gives me a look. “Uh, hello, hot tattoo guy, the one who got you half naked to pierce your nips.”

“Shhh! I can’t take you anywhere.”

Apparently, I shush too loudly and a few people shoot me dirty looks.

Travis chuckles. “I saw him here yesterday evening. He totally asked about you, and I might have mentioned you work here.”

“Okay.” I’m confused why that guy would care where I work.

“My point being that Brady is every bit as hot as Jax. And you might see him here.” Travis pauses. “Or he might call you.” His mouth tilts up into a wide grin.

“Travis, how would he have my number to call me?” Not that I’d necessarily mind because, yeah, Brady is hot, but I hate being set up, and my head feels too jumbled to go out on any dates.

“A little birdie might have given him your number.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Whatever. I just want to say that it was this very thing—trying to get over Reid—that got me in this predicament with Jax.” I log on to my laptop. “Maybe I should lay off any overt attempt to fix my life and just be.”

“Or instead of laying off, you get laid on.” He laughs at his own joke.

“You’re such a gossip whore. You want juicy details so you can get your jollies off some hot boys.”

He feigns offense and then laughs. “As long as someone gets a hot boy.”

Although I smile at Travis for trying to make me feel better, I’m thinking I’m done with guys for a while, and I’m definitely done with Jax. I can’t think of one thing that would persuade me otherwise.