Undone

by Kelly Rimmer

  “No. But it was only a matter of time.”

  “Does he know you never want to get married?”

  I glare at him.

  “Every person who’s ever met me knows I don’t want to get married.”

  “So what makes you think Jake was going to propose?”

  “Because I found the ring, remember?”

  “I remember that happened two and a half years ago. What’s that got to do with you two arguing on Wednesday night?”

  “Well, he admitted he stuck around for these weeks because he was hoping to trick me into staying with him long-term,” I snap. Mitch tilts his head at me.

  “I’m so hungover I can’t even remember what day it is, I wasn’t actually there for the conversation, and even I know that’s not how it went down.”

  “Maybe trick is a strong word,” I mutter. “But he was trying to convince me.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but what I’m hearing is, he told you that he wants to be with you and he wishes you’d give it another shot and then admitted he stayed in the city to spend time with you, hoping you’d feel the same.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what did you want out of these weeks?”

  “Time with him,” I croak.

  Mitch gives me a sad look.

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him I never wanted to speak to him again.”

  Mitch stretches back out on the lounge, balancing his coffee cup on his chest and closing his eyes.

  “And do I correctly guess he’s harassed you incessantly ever since, despite your demand that he leave you completely alone? I mean, that would be the logical reaction from a man who’s determined to trick you into marrying him. I’m sure he’s not doing anything sane like actually doing what you told him to and leaving you alone.”

  “Shut up, Mitchell.”

  “I think my work here is done. Thanks for the coffee.” He waves his hand toward the door. “You may leave.”

  “You’re an ass,” I say, but my gaze is already drifting toward the door.

  “You’re going to see him now, aren’t you?”

  “Smugness is not a good look on you, Mitchell.” I bend and kiss his cheek.

  “Text me later and let me know how it goes!” he calls after me.

  “Go fuck yourself!”

  I HAIL A cab as I step out of Mitchell’s building. When the driver asks me where I’m headed, I rattle off the diner’s address.

  Jake won’t be there anyway. I did tell him I never wanted to speak to him again. We’ve argued in the past, but I’ve never said that before.

  I step out of the cab at the diner just as the sun finally peeks out from behind the clouds. I see Jake immediately—he’s sitting at the table in the window. We used to come here when we were together, almost every weekend. We always sat at that table because I like to people watch. Now that I think about it, I can’t believe Jake even remembered that.

  He’s resting his elbows on the table, staring down at the menu as if it’s fascinating. His shoulders are slumped, and that new beard doesn’t hide the way his lips are turned down.

  “So . . . You assumed I’d come this morning?” I surmise grimly, when I finally walk inside and approach him. Jake raises his gaze, his expression hollow.

  “Actually, I was pretty sure you wouldn’t come, but I didn’t want to risk getting it wrong.” He swallows and looks away. “Again.” Remorse and regret radiate from him in waves. Even before the apology comes, I know he means it. “I thought I saw a chance, and I went for it. But I can see that I wasn’t listening to you, and I’m sorry.”

  “You look like shit,” I say. Jake looks back up at me, and our gazes lock.

  “You don’t.”

  Of course I don’t. I’m wearing half an inch of concealer beneath this foundation.

  “I can’t offer you anything more than this week,” I tell him flatly as I slide into the seat opposite him.

  “And I can’t . . .” He shakes his head. “Jess, I can’t do casual sex. Especially not with you.”

  “So what do we do, then?” I say. I bite my lip, then say hesitantly, “Maybe we really should say goodbye today.”

  “I miss you,” he whispers. Our hands are both resting on the table, but he makes no move to reach for me. I know it’s for the best, but I want the warmth of his skin against mine. In some impossible way, Jake and I have always been connected. Our connection has somehow persisted as emotional and personal, and when there’s a physical aspect to it too, it feels complete. It feels perfect.

  Maybe it was never just about sex, even for me. It pains me to admit that even to myself and I’m a long way from being able to admit it to Jake. I am, however, ready to make another painful admission.

  “I miss you too,” I say heavily.

  “Is there really no middle ground?” he asks me.

  “Such as?”

  “We spend this week together. But just this week. And we don’t . . .”

  “No fucking?”

  “No fucking,” he sighs. He looks miserable about it, so I remind him, “It’s your rule, Jake. I’m down for it. We can go back to my apartment right now.”

  “I didn’t say I’m thrilled about it,” he said wryly, but then he sobers. “I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. But I can’t be with you like that and not want more. Sex means too much to me. You mean too much to me.”

  “I get it,” I sigh, then groan. “Plus I’d be a total asshole if I pressured you for sex.”

  “Like I’m a total asshole because I pressured you for more?”

  “No,” I admit reluctantly. “Your execution could use some work, but you don’t deserve to feel guilty for wanting to build a life with someone.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  I raise my gaze to him. He’s staring at me with something magical in his eyes that I wish I could embrace. It’s warmth and passion and affection and admiration, and in another life, I’d give him everything he asked for, and everything he wants. More than anything, I want this man to be happy.

  But I won’t compromise my values, and that means the one thing I cannot give him is me. I’ve fought too hard to get to where I am, and I simply will not share the controls to my life.

  I reach across the table and grab his hand. Jake immediately turns it over and links our fingers together. We are completely still, staring at one another, but the gap between us seems to be shrinking.

  “I want to spend time with you,” I whisper. “Jake, I want next week with you. But when the time comes for you to fly home, that has to be the end of it. That’s all I can give you.”

  “And you want this even if we don’t make love?” he whispers back.

  “Even if we don’t have sex,” I agree, then I exhale and straighten my posture. “Yeah. Okay. Maybe this is the solution. We hang out this week, but it’s really just us hanging out. Nothing more than friendship.”

  Our gazes meet again, then lock. It’s a painful compromise for both of us, but it’s the only way we can have more time together.

  “One more week,” he says softly.

  “One more week,” I agree.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jake

  WE FIND OURSELVES in the odd position of not having plans, but not wanting to part, and so Jess and I automatically head back to her apartment together. I can see that we’re both still feeling a little uncertain, and even once we’re inside, neither one of us seems to know what to do. After a few nervous bouts of laughter, Jess suggests we head up to the rooftop courtyard of her building.

  I’m more than happy to enjoy the good weather after a miserably wet week, so we sit on the Adirondack chairs in the shaded area of her courtyard. I know Jess is always extra cautious about sun exposure given her pale complexion, but we probably would have chosen this spot even if she wasn’t, because now that the sun’s come out
from behind the clouds, the direct light has some serious bite to it. But there’s a nice breeze blowing up here twenty-five stories in the air, and the temperature is perfect in the shade.

  For a while, Jess and I chat about nothing much at all, about Dad and Elspeth and whether they’ll marry, about Marcus and Abby and how they’ll find life with twin girls, about Clara’s latest antics—specifically, taking a dump in Reba’s suitcase while she was in the shower on Thursday. After a brief lull in the conversation, Jess rolls toward me.

  “You said you don’t do casual sex.”

  I glance at her hesitantly.

  “I don’t.”

  Jess looks a little confused.

  “How does that work?”

  I laugh softly.

  “You make it sound like I’ve achieved some feat of astounding skill.”

  “Forgive me for being indelicate, Jacob,” Jess says, and then we both laugh, because we’re both well aware she’s indelicate more often than not. “But I’m familiar with your sex drive. I think it is a feat of astounding skill if you’re managing on your own between long-term relationships.”

  “It’s a preference thing,” I tell her quietly. “I could probably find hookups if I wanted them.”

  “You could,” Jess interjects. I laugh dryly.

  “Thanks. But I don’t want them, so I cope.”

  “Well, how many women have you been with?”

  I give her an amused smirk.

  “There’s no one like you in the whole world, Jessica Cohen.”

  “Does that mean you won’t answer the question?”

  “It means that most of my ex-girlfriends don’t sit around asking me about my other ex-girlfriends.”

  “Was I your girlfriend though?” she asks me, wincing. I blink at her.

  “Yes. You definitely were.”

  “Hmm.” She doesn’t seem entirely pleased by this, but she doesn’t argue either. “So there was me . . . and who else?”

  “Are you sure you want to have this conversation?”

  “I do. I’m curious. How many?”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven . . . in total?” Jess sounds aghast. I raise my brows at her.

  “Wait, are you actually judging me for what you perceive to be a lack of sexual partners? I didn’t hear any complaints about my inexperience when we were sleeping together.”

  Jess winces.

  “Yeah. I’m a hypocrite, sorry. I’m just shocked. Who were they? Who was your first?”

  “My high school girlfriend, who then became my college girlfriend.”

  “Was that Mina? I think I met her once.”

  “You probably did. We’re still friends.”

  “Of course you are. How did you break up?”

  I shrug.

  “What works when you’re kids doesn’t always work when you’re adults. We just grew apart. Our breakup was more of a whimper than a bang.”

  “Who was next?”

  “You’re really going to ask me about every one of them?”

  “There are six other than me, Jake. This isn’t exactly going to take long.”

  “This is so weird.”

  “You seem surprised that I’ve surprised you. Honestly, sometimes I feel like you don’t know me at all,” Jess says, laughing as she stretches her legs out.

  “Next was a woman I met at a party my first year of med school. That was my one and only one-night stand. It wasn’t for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I like sex as much as the next person. Hell, I love it. But I love what goes with it just as much as the act itself—the deep and meaningful chats, the cuddles, the sense of partnership. For me, sex without that just isn’t the same.”

  “Hmm,” Jess says, then she ponders this for a moment before she asks, “Well, who was next?”

  “Quinn, whom you also met.”

  “She was in your cohort at med school, right?” When I nod, Jess smirks. “Let me guess. You’re still friends.”

  “We are still friends.”

  “How did you break up?”

  “Quinn fell in love with a guy at her gym. She didn’t cheat—she was honest about it and ended things with me before anything happened.”

  “And you’re still friends?”

  “It’s hard to be angry when someone sobs and begs for forgiveness even when she’s breaking up with you.” I shrug. “She married that guy from the gym, by the way. His name is Andy. We all had dinner when she was in California a few months ago, so I guess we’re still friends.”

  “Who was next?” Jess asks. She looks enthralled, and I’m bewildered.

  “This isn’t even a little uncomfortable for you, Jess?”

  “I actually hate it when people get possessive about sex. I can’t stand the idea that being with you for any length of time would give me any kind of right to feel I owned you before or after that. Jealous just reeks of controlling bullshit to me.” She shivers, then shakes her head. I’m fascinated by this, because she seems legitimately uncomfortable with the idea that she might have felt jealousy. “So no, I’m not uncomfortable. Who was next?”

  “Anita. She lived in my apartment building when I was a resident.”

  “I don’t think I met her.”

  “It didn’t last long. We weren’t great together.”

  “And you’re not friends with her now?”

  That makes me laugh.

  “What’s with the questions about me being friends with these women?”

  “Saint Jake,” she says, smiling softly. “I know the answer is going to be yes every time.”

  “Well, it’s not ‘yes’ with Anita,” I tell her, bewilderingly triumphant since we’re actually talking about the end of one of my relationships.

  “Are you Facebook friends?” Jess asks me slowly.

  “Yes,” I admit. “Does that count?”

  “That depends. Are you ‘comment on each other’s posts’ Facebook friends, or ‘silently stalk one another when you’re bored’ Facebook friends?”

  “Ah . . . the former, I think.”

  “Then yes, it counts. Who’s next?”

  “Becca.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Jess gives me a thoughtful look. “She was great. I actually thought you two would have been married with a couple of kids by now. I really liked her.”

  “Really? She hated you.”

  Jess gasps, and an outraged hand flies to her throat. “She did not.”

  “She was convinced I was in love with you,” I explain, smirking. Jess’s indignation fades a little.

  “Oh.”

  “I’m pretty sure I was, by the way,” I add, just in case she’s still somehow not getting it. “Even way back then.”

  “Jake.”

  I shrug. No point pretending otherwise, especially now, when it really is inevitable that we’re going to part next week forever.

  “Who was next?” she asks me.

  “That leaves Vanessa. And, of course, you.”

  “Who’s Vanessa?”

  “I met her on a hike out west. We didn’t last long.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Well, Jake, you prefer relationships to hookups so you’re always going to have to deal with complicated,” Jess informs me. She slides her sunglasses down her nose to peer at me over the top. “Are you and Vanessa still friends?”

  “I’m not really sure, actually. She was hurt when we broke up.”

  “What happened?”

  “I think she was in love with me. And she’s great, but I couldn’t love her back.”

  Jess finally falls silent. I’m sure part of the reason she actually stops asking me questions is that the next logical one is Why couldn’t you love her back? and she’s probably scared of what the answer might be. After a while, she asks, “Do you want to know how many people I’ve slept with?”

  “No.”

  “It’s more than you.”

  “I figured.”
/>
  “A lot more.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Plenty of men would. Especially because the truth is I’ve lost count.”

  I straighten, impatience rippling over my skin.

  “I don’t believe that you’d waste a second of your life with someone who judged you for having the sex you wanted and enjoying it. You’re fucking incredible in bed because you know what you like and you know how to give, so any guy who’s in a position to judge you is probably benefiting from your experience anyway and—” I pause, then frown. “Wait. I am 100 percent certain that you’d tell any guy who made any comment about your sex life to go fuck himself.”

  “Accurate. On all counts,” Jess says, and she slides her sunglasses back up, then stretches her legs out again. I stare at her incredulously.

  “So why did you even say that shit?”

  “Truthfully?” She turns back to flash me a surprisingly soft smile. “People have tried to make me feel shitty about my sexuality in the past. It’s been a sore spot lately and I just knew you would never do that. I guess I just wanted to hear you say it.”

  “Who?”

  “Who what?”

  “Well, you just pumped me for information about my sex life for ten minutes, and while I have no interest in doing the same to you, I am interested in hearing who tried to make you feel shitty about yourself. So who tried to slut-shame you?”

  Suddenly, I see Jess’s guard go up, and that reaction is fascinating. I feel like even now, even after all of these years, I’m still collecting data to try to understand her.

  Happy to talk freely about sex. Shivers in disgust at the idea that someone might feel jealousy or possessiveness. Not at all happy to talk about the times people have made her feel shitty about her sex life.

  I decide that she’s going to clam right up on me because I’ve accidentally taken a conversation where she was completely in her element and shifted it to an area that leaves her feeling uncomfortable. It seems I’m still a long way off from being able to predict her though, because Jess sighs and tucks her hands beneath her head to stare up at the roof again.

  “Most recently a friend. It was an accident, I think, but it still hurt. But probably the worst was my parents,” she says.