Love Me Not

by Reese Ryan

  “It’s not like I won—”

  “Still, that’s a pretty fucking big deal. You used to always tell me stuff like that. So why didn’t you this time?”

  She wiped her hands on a napkin and tried to ignore the guilt she felt about the distance she’d put between them since she’d decided it would be better if she put her past behind her. “I’ve been busy lately. Besides, I didn’t think you’d care—”

  “Not care? Jamie, if it’s about you, of course I care. You’re my friend. You’re important to me. You always have been.”

  Her cheeks warm, she averted her gaze, not wanting to see the hurt she knew would be there. Finally, she met his wounded stare. “I’m sorry. I should have called you.”

  “I bet you remembered to tell Mel.” He sulked.

  “Actually...I didn’t. Ma told her, and she was pretty steamed. Like I said, I’ve been sort of preoccupied.”

  He picked up his fork again and shoved food around the container. They resumed eating in silence for a few minutes before he dropped his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Is that how you guys hooked up? While you were painting him?”

  She shook her head and raised her eyes to his. “He didn’t know about the painting until we visited the show. We were already—”

  “Fucking by then?” He practically spit the words out. The hurt look had returned to his face but was punctuated by resentment.

  “No! And it’s none of your business who I’m sleeping with. Bringing me dinner doesn’t give you a say in my love life.” She returned his angry gaze, her voice rising.

  “Love life? Who the fuck are you? Jamie Charles doesn’t have a love life. She fucks whoever the hell she wants then moves on to the next stupid bastard as soon as she gets bored with that one. I should know.” His voice was getting louder, too.

  His words hit her with the force of a freight train, nearly knocking the breath out of her. Ex had never taken that tone with her before. In fact, she’d always had the upper hand in their relationship. She bossed him around the trailer park when they were kids, and it’d been her idea for them to sleep together. He’d never gotten angry when she broke things off and moved on.

  A couple of years ago he’d admitted that he wanted to be more than “friends with benefits.” She’d turned him down. He’d been hurt, but he’d gotten over it and they’d continued to be friends.

  “What’s wrong with you?” She lowered her voice, trying to calm herself. “Why are you acting like—”

  “A jilted lover? A man with a broken heart? Maybe it’s because I am, James. Did you ever think of that? Or did you think you could keep pretending like other people don’t have feelings and that no one would ever get hurt?” He stood then sank into the couch, elbows on his knees, forehead in hand.

  She went over to the couch and sat, leaving space between them, neither of them saying anything. Finally she turned and touched his hand. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I never meant to, you know that, right?” Her voice was low and soft. Ex didn’t respond. “We’ve been friends forever. I don’t want to lose that.”

  “I’ve been in love with you since we were twelve. Are you seriously going to tell me you didn’t know?” He turned his body to face hers, laughing cruelly in response to her slack-jawed reaction. “Wow. I’ll take that as a no. God!” He slapped his forehead. “How could I be so stupid, believing that one day you’d actually feel the same way about me?”

  Jamie let go of his hand. She stood and paced in front of the coffee table. “I’m sorry, Ex. I didn’t realize...I swear, I never meant to hurt you.”

  “But you did,” he said. “You couldn’t return the feelings I had for you, but whenever I started to feel that way about someone else, there you were, at my door. Are you telling me you didn’t do that on purpose?”

  A crushing weight on her chest made it hard for her to breathe. She hadn’t given it much thought before, but it was true. Whenever she was no longer the center of Ex’s world, she’d show up at his door and end up in his bed. And every time he’d let her.

  She wasn’t even sure why she’d done it. Why she couldn’t seem to let him go, despite the fact that she couldn’t muster the same feelings for him. She was a complete bitch, one even more heartless than her mother.

  Jamie lifted her eyes to meet his. He was so angry and hurt. She opened her mouth, but saying sorry again was pointless. He wouldn’t believe her. Why should he?

  She sat beside him again. “I was so consumed by my own pain that I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I was wrong. I just hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

  He searched her eyes for a moment. Then he lunged forward, closing the space between them as he crushed his mouth against hers.

  She sat stunned for a moment before finally wedging her hands between them and shoving him away. “You were my first real friend, and you’re one of the few friends I have now. I don’t want to lose that, so please, try to understand. I just don’t feel the same.”

  He looked past her, hurt and anger marring the features of his face. “You don’t feel that way about me, but this rich asshole shows up and suddenly you’re all over him, immortalizing his smug face in paint? Is that all I need to get your attention? A bigger bank account?”

  She had an overwhelming desire to pull back and slug him in his stupid mouth. Even if she broke every bone in her hand, it’d be worth it. Where did he get off, saying some shit like that to her?

  “You’re being fucking ridiculous,” she said, folding her arms—fingers clenched into tight fists—across her chest. “It’s just a stupid painting.”

  He laughed. “You know, I think you actually believe that. But I saw the look on your face that night at the restaurant. You’ve never looked at me like that. You’re in love with this dude, aren’t you?”

  “You must be high.” She made her way to the kitchen with him hard on her heels. “You said it yourself, I don’t do love. In fact, I don’t do relationships.”

  “Yet you made an exception for this guy.” He practically snorted. “Do you think he really gives a shit about you?”

  She turned to face him, fire raging in her chest. They’d gotten in arguments both minor and major before, but this was the first time she could remember being this angry. Her clenched fists trembled at her side, but she didn’t respond.

  “He’s slumming it, kid. Eventually he’s gonna get bored and go back to the kind of girl he can take home to his mother. I’ll bet he’s never offered to introduce you to her.”

  “Get the fuck out of my house, right now!” she stammered, barely able to get the words out.

  “Geez, James. Can’t you see what’s gonna happen here?” He ran his hands through his hair and let out a low whistle. “I’ll leave if that’s what you want. But when this guy breaks your heart—and it’s gonna happen—I’ll be here for you, like I’ve always been.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, though she shrugged away from him. He crossed the living room to the door. “See you around.”

  Jamie stood frozen in the kitchen, still shaking, but she couldn’t get his words out of her head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  If being different bothered Jamie, she would’ve stepped in front of a rapid transit train years ago. She loved being different. Embraced it like a four-year-old embraced her worn, pill-covered blankie.

  What she hated was being just like everyone else. Wearing the same designer clothes. Clamoring for the latest celebrity haircut. Like the mind-numbed followers in high school who donned the same outfits and shared tubes of lip gloss in the bathroom.

  Yet somehow, in the months since she’d been seeing Miles, she felt like she was transforming into someone she didn’t quite recognize.

  Jamie sat on the couch, tapping one finger to her lip. She’d invited Miles to her apartment. Since that first night she spent at his place, she’d slept there at least two nights a week. But he’d never been to her place—not inside—not even once.

  It h
adn’t bothered her before, but since her fight with Ex a few weeks ago, it was one of the many things about her relationship with Miles she began to question. Had she not invited him to her place because she was embarrassed by what she didn’t have? Had he never asked because he thought her third-floor attic apartment was beneath him?

  She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t like the uneasiness the whole subject gave her, so she’d asked him. “Why don’t we ever spend the night at my place?” she’d asked, searching through his drawer for the black Rolling Stones T-shirt with the red tongue he always let her use.

  “Because you’ve never invited me. Why?”

  “Just wondered, that’s all,” she’d said, pulling the shirt over her head.

  “Are you inviting me now?” He’d leaned back against the headboard, one arm behind his head.

  She’d climbed back under the covers. “If you want. It’s no big deal.”

  “It is to me. Why don’t we stay at your place next weekend?”

  “Okay. Whatever.” She’d acted as if it meant nothing then turned her back and said good night.

  But it was a big deal, whether or not he could accept her. She’d grown used to his place, driving his Beamer and being able to eat at restaurants and bars she’d never been able to afford. She told herself it didn’t make a difference to her that Miles could afford those things, that he’d always been able to afford those things. But that wasn’t true. Everything Miles had made her painfully aware of all she didn’t, that she would never have. Sometimes she felt slightly jealous, wishing she’d had the advantages he did as a child.

  So she’d invited him over. She wouldn’t go through the pretense of trying to cook. She’d made her inability in that area abundantly clear. Instead, she promised him pizza, beer and movies that didn’t suck. And she’d warned him that her place was nothing like his. Repeatedly.

  “Jamie,” he’d finally said, “I don’t care about any of that. I wouldn’t care if you lived in a shoe box or a tin can. I just want to spend time with you and it doesn’t matter to me where we do that. Okay?”

  She’d laughed derisively. “We’ll see.”

  Something in his eyes had looked sad. He’d kissed her and gone to sleep.

  Jamie glanced around her apartment one last time for anything she might’ve missed.

  She’d scrubbed, cleaned, dusted and organized and now she was ready for Miles to see where she lived. To see her as she truly was.

  * * *

  “I brought dessert.” Miles leaned down and kissed her when she opened the door for him.

  “Thanks.” She took the box from him and peeked down the driveway. “Where’d you park?”

  “Down the street. I didn’t want to block your neighbors, since I won’t be leaving anytime soon.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx.

  She laughed. “What’d you get?”

  “I picked up one of those Bananas Foster cheesecakes you like.” He followed her up the steps.

  “An entire pie?”

  “Yep.”

  She drew in a deep breath then pushed the door open and stepped inside. “C’mon in.”

  “Nice cozy space. I like the accent wall—” he nodded toward the wall behind the couch, “—and the color on the kitchen cabinets. Was it here when you moved in?”

  Jamie relaxed a little as she put the pie in the refrigerator. “Mimi went to interior design school, but then she became a stay-at-home mom, so she’s always looking for someone to practice on.” She stood in the kitchen, her arms folded as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “She’s got a good eye.” He smiled, looking around. “I really could use some help finishing up my space. I’d love to work with her. Can you ask her to give me a call?”

  “Sure. She’ll be thrilled at the prospect of a new guinea pig, especially one who can actually afford the shit she picks out.” Jamie finally noticed that Miles was standing in the middle of the living room, still wearing his coat. She reached her arm out. “Sorry. Let me hang your coat. Most of my visitors already know where everything is.”

  “Jamie,” he said in a soothing tone as she slipped his jacket off and handed it to her, “it’s just me. Relax.”

  “Sit down then. You’re making me nervous.” She hung his coat in the front closet.

  He sank into the couch and patted the faux leather cushion. “Comfy. But I bet it’d be even more comfortable if you were sitting right here.”

  Jamie sat next to him in her shorts and a Florence and the Machine concert T-shirt. She pulled her bare feet onto the sofa.

  “That’s more like it.” He placed his hand on her leg. “So what’re we watching tonight? You promised me movies that don’t suck, and I’m holding you to that.”

  “For the record,” she said, “I don’t own any movies that suck.” She indicated a black wrought-iron DVD stand with scrolled ivy running down the sides. “Pick whatever you like.”

  Miles looked through the collection of movies and pulled out Bad Boys II and Italian Job.

  “Now, decide what kind of pizza you want and I’ll call it in.”

  He reached into his wallet and pulled out his credit card, handing it to her. “Why don’t we go with our usual? One cheese, one supreme.”

  Jamie pushed the card back toward him. “You’re my guest. I’m paying.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do.” She reached for her cell phone on the coffee table.

  “I don’t mind paying.”

  “Neither do I.” She stared at him intensely, her hand still blocking the card.

  He sank into the couch and slipped the credit card back in his wallet. “This round goes to you, but I’ve got next.”

  * * *

  Miles sat on the couch, Jamie’s head in his lap. She was drifting off to sleep. He knew she’d be tired after working a longer shift the night before. He stroked her hair—piled on her head in a loose, high ponytail—and traced her name in script on the back of her neck.

  Jamie was an enigma wrapped in a puzzle. He’d expected that. What he hadn’t expected was how quickly he’d fallen for the girl who was everything he thought he’d never wanted.

  If he’d been asked to create a profile of his ideal woman, he was pretty sure it would’ve been the exact opposite of Jamie Charles. He’d usually gone for women who were delicate and high-maintenance. The kind of women who favored high heels, and feminine skirts and dresses. Women whose families were quite similar to his own—both in their wealth and misery. Jamie was none of that, yet he couldn’t remember wanting anyone more than he wanted her.

  It’d happened gradually, him falling for her. She’d intrigued him the moment he’d seen her. He’d been attracted to her body with all its curves, her expressive eyes and face. She was gorgeous, though not in a way that was typically portrayed in magazines. Still, there was something about her that was incredibly sexy and that, even fully clothed, left him desperate to touch her.

  But the more he’d gotten to know her—he’d admit, in an effort to bed her at first—the more he recognized how much they had in common. How much she made him laugh. How he liked that she wasn’t afraid to call him on his bullshit. Being raised in a family that routinely tiptoed around the truth, he found her fearless honesty refreshing. The chase had made her even more desirable, but by the time he’d asked her out he knew he wanted far more than a few nights in the sack. He wanted to love her so completely that she’d feel like a part of him.

  He traced her cheekbone with his thumb and she opened her eyes. He smiled. “Hello, beautiful.”

  “I fell asleep?” She sat up and stretched. “I’m sorry. That is so rude. I’m more tired than I thought.”

  “Don’t apologize. Why don’t we call it a night?”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “In fact, I need to review a proposal for work. I’ll read for a bit and then I’ll call it a night, too.”

 
“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.”

  “You bet your sweet ass you will.” He winked and slapped her playfully on the tush as he followed her into her bedroom and glanced around. The room was a deep eggplant purple, almost black. A color he’d have thought dreadful in any room of a house. But somehow, with the decor and the pile of pillows against an unusual but elegant hand-crafted headboard, it worked.

  “The color isn’t what you’d expect in a bedroom, but I like it. Did Mimi do this, too?”

  “Are you kidding me? She practically had a baby when I chose this color. I wanted to do the entire place in it, but she threatened to throw herself from a balcony or something, so I promised to keep it to my bedroom.” She looked around. “You really like it?”

  “I do. It suits you. In fact, the whole place feels like you. How could I not like it?” He pulled her close, kissing her.

  She pulled away. “Ew. I have morning breath, gross. I’m going to brush my teeth. Did you bring an overnight bag?”

  “I did, but I left it in the car. I’ll get it. Be back in a sec.”

  * * *

  Miles went to the car and grabbed his bag. He locked the trunk and headed up the street. As he approached her driveway, a man stood on the sidewalk, waiting for him. It was cold and dark outside, but he could see his face under the streetlight. It was the guy who’d valet-parked his car that night.

  “Ex, right?” He hiked the bag on his shoulder. He didn’t offer to shake the man’s hand. Instead, his hand was clenched into a fist, burrowed deep in his coat pocket.

  “That’s right. And you’re the painting guy,” Ex said, arms crossed, stance wide. His head was tilted back, his chin jutting out.

  “Miles Copeland,” he said. “Did you come to see Jamie? Because we were just about to turn in for the night. She’s had a pretty hard week.” Miles tried to conceal a smirk as the man shifted uncomfortably at his mention that they were turning in for the night and everything that might imply. He hadn’t said it on purpose, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t draw immense satisfaction from the man’s reaction.

  “I’m here to see you,” Ex said, chin lifted.