"I’ve lied to myself my whole life that guys like him don't exist," Jess says, as if she hasn't heard me, "so I wouldn't fall into a depression about all the assholes I've gone out with, who can't introduce me to their friends after six months of dating." She grits her teeth, snatching the smoothie from my hand and sipping the very last bit.
I know exactly who she means: Ethan, the guy she proclaimed was the love of her life until three months ago, when she abruptly dumped him. But she all but forbade me to ever talk about him, so I switch back to James.
"Those things don't mean anything to him, Jess. Besides, he’d slept with half of those friends and probably more than a dozen others and has no plans to quit doing so. For all I know, he spent the last two nights with Natalie." My heart stings violently at the thought. "I'd say that trumps candles and movies."
"I don't think he has," she winks. “You said he called you every day."
He did. My stomach jolts every time his name appears on my screen and frightens me like nothing else. I spent the last weekend desperately wishing I'd had the strong will to disappear from his apartment. But I didn't. Not when he asked me on Saturday morning whether I want to spend the day with him. Or when day morphed into night and then another day. Every ounce of sanity dictated me to leave, to run, because every second I spent at his side fed my illusion that everything was real: his arms around me and his lips on mine, his comforting words when I talked about Kate and the absence of even one nightmare, our endless discussions about which Superman movie was the worst, and his unbelievable patience in listening to me talk about my job application woes.
It was so perfectly fake it felt real.
"Let's go inside," I murmur. "Oh shoot—turn around," I command and swirl around, grabbing Jess by the shoulder.
"Ouch. What was that for?" she complains.
"Abby just passed by. I told her I missed the last two Saturday volleyball games because I had chickenpox."
Jess bursts out laughing. "You're an awful liar."
"She is." I raise my gaze and find James standing a few feet away from us, in front of the fountain. He's dressed in a suit, something he told me more than once he despises. And whether the weekend was real or not, there's nothing fake in the sudden lightning-fast beats of my heart and the racing pulse in my throat. I curse my wardrobe choice—an above-the-knee gray cotton dress with short sleeves. I thought it made me look like a smart, would-be professional when I chose it. I feel like a desperate schoolgirl now.
Jess steps forward. "I'm Jessica Haydn," she says, almost out of breath.
"James. Nice to finally meet you." He kisses Jess on both cheeks then turns his attention to me. "You look perfect for someone who was supposed to be down with chickenpox for two weeks," he muses.
"I had to come up with something," I mumble, staring at my feet.
"Are you joining us in the auditorium, James? Getting bored to death by lousy speeches is much less painful when in good company," Jess says.
"I'm actually here to deliver a speech." He smirks at her.
"I'll make sure not to fall asleep during yours, then." She winks. “I’ll be eternally grateful if you crack a joke or two. You’re twenty-eight, which makes you a good fifteen years younger than all the other speakers, so I’m putting all my trust in you.” Jess will never cease to amaze me. Is there anything that could ever throw her off, or shake that fantastic confidence of hers even a bit?
"You were not on the speaker list," I say to James. "I checked it twice."
"I promised Dean Kramer that I'd show up spontaneously if I had time."
"I'll wait for you inside, Serena. Nice meeting you, James," Jess dismisses herself, and I wonder if it's finally a sign of embarrassment or she just wants to give us some space.
"Let's go somewhere in the shade," he says, undoing the top button of his shirt.
We stop under the valley oak next to the auditorium and I lean against the rough bark.
"We should go inside. The first speech will start in a few minutes," I say.
"I didn't come for the speech," James says, his lip curling into a delicious smile. He leans so close I can feel his warm, sweet breath on me. "I wanted to see you."
My heart skips a beat. How can I not melt at such words?
He leans in even closer, and I expect him to kiss me, but he stops just one inch short of my lips. It takes me a second to realize he's asking for my permission. I close the distance with a soft kiss, then pull back quickly.
He looks at me questioningly.
"Someone can see us," I murmur.
"You weren't that concerned when we landed on Friday."
"That was different."