Stone Cold

The song changes to an Alanis Morrissette number and I peek back at Jude again. “Should we wake him up? He used to have the biggest crush on Alanis. I’d hate for him to miss out on the acoustic live version of You Oughta Know.”

Jovie glances over her shoulder, a slow smile spreading across her pink lips. “Nah, he looks peaceful. We should let him sleep.”

Jude sleeps the rest of the drive there and Jovie sings along to every song while interspersing random tidbits of information like a human VH1 Pop-Up Video.

For past year that she’s been Jude’s girl, I swear the guy hasn’t stopped smiling. Not once. Every time she walks into the room, he lights up like a damn Christmas tree, and any time she goes home for the weekend or has a girls’ night, he sulks around like a man child. And I kind of get it … she brings sunshine everywhere she goes. She’s in a perpetual good mood, never hesitating to offer a witticism or crazy antic as long as it conjures a laugh or smile out of someone.

This woman truly gives no fucks. She’s just out here living her truth.

Secretly, as much as I feign annoyance at her little song and dance numbers, her corny dad jokes, and the little dramatic re-enactments she puts on every time she tells Jude about a book she just finished … I find it all sexy as hell.

Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened had she not run into Jude in the bathroom at that party. Would she have come back? Would we have talked all night? Would she have given me her number?

Would I be the one lighting up every time she comes into the room?

It’s dangerous to let my mind wander down that long and winding road to nowhere. What’s done is done. There isn’t any scenario I can think of in which Jovie could ever be mine. Even if she and Jude break up one day, she’d still be off the table.

No self-respecting man would ever go after his best friend’s ex.

Chapter Ten

Jovie

* * *

“You feeling better yet?” Monica asks over FaceTime Wednesday night.

I take a sip of chicken broth, tasting the salt on my tongue but nothing else.

“We’re making progress,” I say.

“So will I be seeing your face at brunch this Saturday?”

I give her a thumbs up and take another swallow. “God willing.”

She chuckles, sweeping her dark hair into a messy top knot. “Oh, did anything ever happen after you took that tag down the other day?”

I begin to shake my head and then I stop. “Yes and no.”

“What? What’s that mean?” she leans closer to her phone.

“Remember Stone Atwood?” I ask. “Jude’s best friend.”

She sways back, her head cocked. “Do I remember Stone Atwood … what the hell kind of question is that? Of course I remember Stone Atwood. Who could forget that icy stare and those broad shoulders?”

On the other side of the room, Domino snores on his dog bed, his little paws flicking like he’s chasing something in his sleep.

“So he messaged me that same morning you called,” I say. “And we’ve been messaging a little bit ever since.”

“Really? Stone?”

I nod. “It’s weird. I don’t know if we’re flirting or if he’s just being an asshole to me and I’m giving it back to him but the whole thing is … unexpected.”

“Do you think he wants to reconnect?”

I shake my head with a vehement no. “Absolutely not. There’s nothing to reconnect. He was always Jude’s friend. Like they were a packaged deal. I was always the third wheel and Stone made no effort to hide his feelings about that.”

The number of times Stone appeared to enjoy my company, I could probably count on one hand, maybe two. Most of the time I couldn’t get him to talk to me, let alone acknowledge my presence.

I never pointed it out to Jude because I didn’t want to cause any issues between them, but I always wanted to know if Stone was always like that—or if it had to do with me. Once I was so determined to crack a smile out of him that I danced around their dorm lip syncing to the Spice Girls and making a complete fool out of myself only for him to walk off halfway through to take a phone call down the hall.

“Then what do you think he wants?” Monica asks.

I shrug. “I don’t think he wants anything. I think he’s just being … Stone.”

“That says so little while saying so much.”

“Exactly.”

Chapter Eleven

Stone

* * *

The Hannaford Supermarket is packed on this Friday afternoon. I imagine we’re all doing the same thing; ditching work a couple of hours early, grabbing some dinner items, and heading home to kick off our weekend. I wonder if this is what Paul meant when he told me there’s no such thing as a unique experience.