by CJ Martín
Jesse: I never stopped.
59
Riley
Sunday mornings, Bill likes to read the newspaper. I watch as he neatly folds the paper into thirds, and I don’t know why, but it annoys the shit out of me. With each pass of his thumb to smooth the crease, my patience thins. On top of everything, I’d like to know who still reads an actual newspaper, anyway? Come on, Bill, time to move into the twenty-first century.
“Sweetie, isn’t this your friend?” Bill stretches the Sports section wide across the table.
My ears perk up at the question, and I lean forward in my chair to check out the picture. Sure enough, Jesse is front and center, looking incredible in dark navy jeans and a maroon Breckland Tigers t-shirt.
Jesse and I have seen each other twice since ESPresso and texted a handful of times. We agreed to be friends, but neither of us know how to proceed. Well, that’s not true. Jesse has done a great job of keeping me in the friend zone. He’s talked about his new job and how he became involved in coaching at a basketball camp for high-risk teens in North Carolina. The youth camp was somehow affiliated with Duke University, and because he made quite an impression on one of the assistant coaches, he received a recommendation for the Breckland position.
Jesse wanted to be closer to his mother (and although he didn’t say it aloud, I’m assuming to me, too) so he applied. With the help of Abigail, he practiced his interview skills, perfected his resume, and mingled with some of the current coaching staff and trainers. There was no way he’d get the head coaching job—he had far too little experience for that—but he was pretty much a shoe-in for an assistant position. He interviewed for both the bench coach and shooting coach slots.
While we talked a lot about Jesse’s career, when he asked about my job at LAMP I didn’t offer much because I knew how it looked. Bill’s a controlling partner in the firm where I work and I’m dating him. Jesse will draw the obvious (and accurate) conclusion: I was promoted from secretary to a full-time interior design specialist due to nepotism. What’s not so easy to prove is that I keep my job based on talent. I work just as hard as, if not harder than, my colleagues to prove my worth.
“Riley?” Bill shakes the paper a little. “Jesse Collins? Says here he’s going to be the new Bench Coach at Breckland U.”
“Hmm,” I murmur as though this were news to me, when in reality I found out three days ago when Jesse did. He had texted me with the good news immediately after his meeting.
“How do you know him, again?” Bill’s question is innocent enough; he’s merely curious, yet it hits me like a punch to the gut. He scrunches his nose. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I’m quick to agree and snatch up our coffee mugs. “Just tired.”
His glances at his watch. “My video conference doesn’t start until ten.” That’s another thing that irritates me. He works constantly, even on Sundays. I can’t lie around in my pajamas all day and marathon-watch Netflix because I feel like a goddamn slacker. His voice turns sensual. “Let’s go back to bed.”
My stomach clenches, not in excitement, but in trepidation. Sex with Bill isn’t so much a pleasurable experience as it is an obligation. We (or I should say, I) lack physical chemistry. That tear-your-clothes-off, have-to-have-you-naked-now-or-I’ll-die attraction. I had hoped it would build over time, but it’s just not happening.
And I have a major confession. Are you sitting down? Good. In the entire time that Bill and I have been sleeping together, I’ve faked every single orgasm. Every. One. I long stopped trying to break Jesse’s curse, and at this point, I think I could win a freaking Oscar for my performance in the bedroom.
“What do you say?” Bill waggles his eyebrows. “You seem tense. I think you could use a little sexual healing.”
A nervous chuckle escapes my lips. “Next time.” I pat his stomach as I pass. “I’m meeting Liza in a half hour.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He makes a face. “But tonight you’re all mine.”
I walk toward the bathroom. That’s what I’m afraid of.
“It’s wrong, isn’t it?” I question, as I pour more syrup onto the thick stack of pancakes on my plate.
“What exactly?” Liza spears a sausage link. “The fact that you have a secret friendship with your ex that you refuse to tell your current boyfriend about? Or that you’re still in love with said ex?” My eyes widen, but she continues, “Because they’re both wrong.”
I groan. She’s one hundred percent right, but for once I wish she’d indulge me. I haven’t done anything wrong. Technically. Maybe I did see Jesse a few times, exchanged a few texts, but it’s strictly platonic. We’re re-kindling our friendship, not our romance.
And if you believe that, Riley, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.
“He’s my friend.”
Liza raises her eyebrows. “Who you’d like to fuck.”
“Liza!” I scold. “Keep your voice down. There are two kids sitting right behind me.”
She rolls her eyes. “If that’s the worst they hear.” She takes another bite of her omelet. “You know you’re playing with fire.”
I sip my chocolate milk. “He’s moving back to Cardinal’s Cay, Liza. It’s a small town. It’s not like I’m going to be able to avoid him forever. Besides, we were friends long before we ever…” My voice trails off.
“Seeing him…at the grocery store, say, is very different from meeting him for coffee or texting every day.”
I narrow my eyes. “We don’t text every day.”
“Yet.” She meets my gaze. “You do what you want. You asked my opinion and you got it.”
I nod my head. Liza has made it very clear that she thinks Bill is the proper choice—he’s rich (not that material things matter to me), he’s kind, smart, giving, and has never hurt me. On paper, I agree with Liza. But love isn’t only about tally marks and common sense. Sometimes it’s messy and complicated. Then again, maybe I have no clue what the fuck I’m talking about.
“When does your plane leave?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
The subject change works because Liza’s smile brightens. “Friday at 11:00 a.m.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Nervous. Scared. Excited.” She ticks her fingers. “Moving across the country to be with your boyfriend is…”
“Romantic?” I supply.
“Some people would say stupid.”
“Some people are idiots.”
Liza chuckles. “The timing is right. My company has the open position in the accounting department in the Tempe office. Scott’s lease is up this month.” She glances at the picture of her and Scott on her phone. “It’s meant to be.”
“It definitely is.” I push my plate to the side. “What am I going to do here without you?”
“I think the question is who will you do here without me?”
I kick her under the table.
She yelps. “Ow!”
“Oops,” I say, unapologetically. “My foot slipped.”
“You bitch!” She reaches for the check the waitress placed on our table several minutes ago. “Forget having a free place to crash on the west coast! You, my dear, can stay in a hotel!”
I shrug. “I’m sure with Bill’s real estate connections, I’ll be able to find something.”
She smiles. “Be careful what you wish for. Knowing Bill, he’ll buy you an entire freaking building just for when you visit.”
I laugh, but inside I know there’s a vein of truth to her words. Bill’s presents can be over-the-top. Like the one-carat stud diamond earrings he bought me for our six-month anniversary. I didn’t know anyone apart from high school students who celebrated six-month anniversaries, but that’s beside the point.
“You watch,” Liza says, as she throws a twenty on the table, “you’ll be engaged before me.”
My eyes widen in panic, my breath catches in my throat, but then Liza laughs and the air whooshes from my lungs.
She’s only j
oking, Ry. Calm the fuck down.
I grab my purse, place another twenty on top of hers, and follow her to the parking lot.
She carries on, oblivious to my mini panic attack. “So, I’ll see you at the Bon Voyage party on Wednesday?”
“Yeah.” I unlock my car. “Bill’s parents are flying in this week, so I’m not sure what our plans are exactly, but I’ll be there.”
“Look at you, spending quality time with your future in-laws!”
My mouth gapes open, but she laughs and sticks her tongue out.
“Okay, you really need to stop that,” I scold.
She chuckles. “Sure thing.” She pulls me in for a quick hug. “I’m going. I have some last-minute packing to finish.”
“Text me later,” I say, as I open my car door. “I’m here if you need help.”
“I may just take you up on that…” Her voice trails off.
“Want me to come over now?” My voice is eager, and I tell myself that I’m not avoiding Bill or trying to distract myself from texting Jesse.
Liza’s my friend. My best friend. And she’s moving away in five days. Of course I want to spend time with her.
She quirks a brow. “Really? But you hate packing.”
“I’ll make an exception.”
“Okay.” She nods her head. “But no complaining.” Her eyes narrow as she adds, “And no crying.”
“Yes, boss,” I agree, as I get into my car and start the engine. “Be there in ten.”
60
Riley
I spend the rest of Sunday afternoon helping Liza pack up her apartment. She’s right; I despise packing, not that anyone’s a fan of it really, but still. When Bill texts me later that night, I decline his invitation to come over—don’t give me that look. I’m tired.
By Tuesday evening, I still haven’t seen Bill. He has just invested in a new property two towns over, so most of his time is divided between traveling to the job site and making phone calls with construction crews, code enforcement officers, and potential customers.
Even though the Easter holiday is next week, Bill’s parents’ flight landed this afternoon at three twenty-seven. Not three-thirty, three twenty-seven—Bill’s precise like that. We’re all going for dinner at Oyster.
I shower, get dressed, and make it all the way to my car before I realize that I left my cell phone in my apartment. I pat my pockets, check my purse, and glance at the dashboard to see if the Bluetooth symbol is illuminated—it isn’t. I groan audibly as I switch off the ignition and rush back into the cold. It’s mid-March, yet the thermometer has barely reached thirty degrees this week, and with the wind whipping through the air, the “real feel” is in the single digits.
Back inside my apartment, I locate my phone on the kitchen counter, still plugged into the charger. As I pick it up, my eyes scan over several notifications, one of which is a text message from Bill.
Bill: Hi, Sweetie. Just got back from the airport with my parents. Reservations are at seven. Are you on your way?
I glance at the clock. It’s five forty-five. I can make it across town with plenty of time to spare, I think. Bill’s perpetually early, as in, if we do not arrive twenty minutes prior to the start of any function—and I do mean any and every function—he panics. He’s chronically early; I’m chronically late. We balance each other out…in theory, anyway.
My thumb swipes the screen, but my fingers are too cold to register the touch, so I drop the phone and blow into my hands in an attempt to warm them up. A minute later, I type a quick message to Bill.
Riley: Omw. Left ten minutes ago.
This is an outright lie. I’m still standing in my kitchen and I would never text and drive. He should know that after nine months of dating, but he simply agrees.
Bill: Ok.
His response is simple. Quick. Efficient. Just like him.
I knock on Bill’s front door thirty minutes later—traffic was heavier and slower than I anticipated. His mother and father are seated on the sofa. It’s not the first time I’m meeting them, but every time they visit I have the feeling I should be walking on eggshells. They’re prim and proper, formal, refined—the exact opposite of me.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lewg.” I smile as I embrace first his father, then mother, in the world’s most awkward hug. “So good to see you.”
“Lovely to see you, dear.” Mrs. Lewg—Carole, though she’s never told me to call her that—says. “Bill was just telling us he has a special announcement before we leave for dinner.”
“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows as I turn toward Bill. My mind quickly scans over our last few conversations. I can’t remember him talking about any major deal specifically, apart from the new property, but that deal closed weeks ago. All right, okay, I may not pay one hundred percent attention when he blabs on and on about investment properties or the price per square foot of Building A versus Building B, but can you blame me? Commercial real estate is freaking boring. Take it from me, I should know; it’s all Bill ever seems to talk about.
“Riley.” Bill makes no effort to move from in front of the mantle where he stands, but he extends his hand and pulls me toward him. “Can you come here for one second? There’s something I want to ask you. Something I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”
Liza’s smiling face pops to mind and her words bounce around my brain. You’ll be engaged before me. But surely that’s not what this is. We haven’t been together that long. I haven’t even given him a key to my apartment yet. He just met my family.
“Riley Ann Jones.” He takes both my hands, and I will myself to close my mouth, which gapes open in the most unflattering way.
Oh shit. Oh no. Fuck. Please don’t let him be asking what I think he’s going to—
“This past year”—nine months, I automatically correct in my head—“has been the happiest year of my life. You’re everything that I want in a life partner: smart, beautiful, kind, honest…”
I swallow. I’m not so honest.
He drops to one knee, looks up at me with caring brown eyes. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
My gaze darts around the room, heart beating wildly in my chest, not from excitement, but from fear.
His mother smiles at me encouragingly, as Bill cracks open a small velvet jewelry box. “It was my grandmother’s. It’s been in our family for generations. I asked my mother to bring it in with her.” He waves with his free hand to where his parents sit. “It’s part of the reason why they flew in early.” He smiles again. “So, will you? Will you be my wife?”
Holy fuck. Bill scrunches his nose, and I press my lips together, sending another silent prayer heavenward that I didn’t just say fuck in front of his parents. In front of my (potential) future in-laws.
“Kind of waiting on answer here, Riley.” His voice jokes, but I can see the tension around his eyes.
I squeeze my eyes tight, swallow a deep breath, and nod. “Yes.” My voice is the faintest of whispers. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Wonderful!” his mother exclaims, clapping her hands in front of her chest. Bill pulls himself to his feet and slips the ring on my left finger. It’s delicate, a solitaire round cut stone, light and classy, but it feels like a heavy anchor pulling me down. I’m suffocating. Sinking. Drowning.
Mr. Lewg claps Bill on the back. “Congratulations, son.” They shake hands as though they’re business associates rather than father and son.
Bill locks eyes with me, the megawatt smile that is plastered on every billboard within a thirty-mile radius beams at me. He mouths “I love you,” but all I can do is nod, because there’s only one thought looping through my mind right now, and if I’m not careful, the words will escape and topple the house of cards that I’ve struggled to build this entire year.
Those words are on my mind throughout our indulgent five-course meal.
They’re there later that night when Bill makes love to me and tells me how happy he is.
And they’re still t
here long after his breath has slowed and he has fallen asleep. Then, and only then, do I let the devastating truth fall past my lips:
He’s not Jesse.
61
Jesse
Riley is back to avoiding me. We were making progress, slowly rebuilding our bond and learning about each other’s past year. But all of a sudden it’s like a switch has been flipped, and she’s back to shutting me out. Every single one of my calls and texts have gone unanswered. She’s busy, I tell myself. We’re not kids anymore. We both have responsibilities. But I know these are just excuses, lies I tell myself late at night to dull the ache, to fill the void that only she could satisfy.
On Easter Sunday I come home to visit my mom. And while I am excited to see my mom and meet her new boyfriend, I’m even more excited to see Riley. I know she’ll be home sooner or later, because there’s no way she’d miss celebrating a holiday with her parents or little sister.
A little after two o’clock, I get my wish. From the screened-in front porch of my mom’s house, I watch from behind the pillar as Riley’s long legs emerge from the passenger seat of the sedan that just pulled into her family’s driveway. Thank God, I whisper, thankful to even catch a glimpse of her beautiful face. But what I’m not quite expecting is Bill to be with her.
I shift from foot to foot and narrow my gaze as my eyes drag over the shiny, black Mercedes-Benz. An S-Class, no less. My stare turns even harder as he moves around the front of the car and loops his hand with Riley’s. He wears a tailored peacoat and Burberry scarf, a look that clearly says I have money.
I bet Riley’s dad loves him.
“Jesse.” My mom bangs the screen door open as she comes onto the porch. “Lunch is ready.”
I wince. Shit.
Riley stops walking, and Bill pauses, too, resting a hand on her lower back. I shuffle from behind the post so they can see me, and so that I don’t look like the creeper that I really am.