The Heartbreaker

“I’m outside your house.”

“What?” my voice comes out louder than I intend. “Why?”

“Because I need to talk to you.” He sighs heavily.

“I’ll be right out.” I hang up the phone and go back to my room and grab a T-shirt and sweats, pulling them on quickly.

“Why are you in such a rush?” Jagger mumbles from bed. “It’s Sunday.”

“I just . . . I have to take care of something. Go back to sleep.” I rush out of the room and jog to the front of the house, stepping outside before either Jagger has a chance to stand up and follow or Lawrence rings the doorbell.

I freeze when I turn around and find Lawrence standing there, with his hands in his pockets. His blond hair is longer now, the straight strands tucked behind his ears, those clear blue eyes I used to get lost in are looking at me, but I realize that I feel . . . nothing. It’s that realization that makes me walk down the steps until I reach him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He rocks slightly. “So . . . you and Jagger, huh?”

I open my mouth to tell him it’s not serious, but instead I give a nod. I don’t owe Lawrence an explanation.

“So you’re definitely over me,” he says.

“I guess I am.” I keep my gaze on his. “What do you want?”

“The paper, Jo.”

“The paper. Of course.”

“Well, apologizing again seems futile.” He shrugs a shoulder.

“The paper isn’t signed yet.”

“I don’t understand why it’s so difficult for you to sign your name on a paper that states you won’t divulge secrets of our relationship.”

“I don’t understand why it’s so difficult for you to understand that you’re asking me to lie.”

His jaw clenches.

I cross my arms.

“What do you want me to do, Jo? I need this done. I want this done. Sign it and we can both move on. If you never want to see me again, this is the perfect segue to that.”

I have nothing to say to that, so I glance away, arms still crossed. The morning joggers are out. I focus on them. Overachievers.

“Have you told Jagger?”

“About what?” I meet Lawrence’s eyes again.

“About what happened.”

“I haven’t told anyone about what happened, Lawrence. That should be reason enough for me not to have to sign a damn paper.”

“Coach isn’t going to let it go and my agent definitely won’t let it go.”

“Fuck your coach and your agent.”

“You’re not going to be saying that when my agent starts paying you a visit instead of me.”

I glare. “Fuck. Your. Agent.”

His jaw twitches again. He glances over my head and fixes on whatever is there. It takes me a minute to realize Jagger probably stepped outside. I look over my shoulder and confirm it. He’s standing there wearing athletic shorts and no shirt. His hair is all crazy like he just got fucked, which, isn’t not true.

“I guess I’ll see myself out,” Lawrence says, looking at me again. He looks pissed. His face is blotchy. “Sign the paper.”

I wait until he walks away and turns to continue walking down the street before I turn around and make my way back to the house. Jagger’s still standing at the door. He holds it open for me and shuts it behind us, locking it before he turns to me.

“You okay?” His eyes are full of concern as they search mine. I nod. “What did he want?”

“To apologize. Again. And for me to sign that stupid paper,” I add, my voice a little quieter.

He stares at me for a beat. Waiting. Finally, he simply nods and starts walking to the kitchen. “You want coffee?”

“Sure.” I follow him.

We sit down and have our coffee in silence, until he breaks it.

“Do you want to go to brunch?”

My gaze snaps up to his. “Today?”

“Yes today.” He chuckles.

“Just me and you?” I frown, wondering if there’s some kind of catch. Brunch isn’t dinner though, so technically he’s not really giving me any special treatment.

“Unless you want to invite someone.”

“Sure. I mean, sure to brunch. I have no one to invite unless I invite Misty and she’s going home to have breakfast with my mom.”

“And you’re not?”

“Let’s just say I’m not on the best terms with my parents right now.”

“Because of the accident?”

“Yeah.”

“They can’t possibly blame you for it.”

I shrug and drink my coffee.

“What really happened with volleyball?”

“What do you mean?” I swallow.

“You loved that sport. You were on the team and you were freaking phenomenal.”

“How would you know?”

“I went to some of your games.”

“When?” I sit up straighter. This is news to me.

“When my parents came into town. They always wanted to see you play.”

“Oh.” I frown. “I remember them going, but I don’t remember you being there.”

“You seemed intent on staying away from me, so I always left and waited in the car when the game was over.”

“Oh.” I glance away and focus on my nearly empty mug.