“Don’t blame me for the fact that Dave’s an asshole! That’s guilt by association,” the man complained.
“I still don’t trust him as far as I could spit. I don’t even like you hanging out with someone like that,” the woman shot back.
“Fine, treat me like a child,” he huffed as they stomped down the hall still arguing.
“If you act like one, that’s how I’m going to treat you,” she returned.
Britt pressed the button and rode to Jack’s floor, her palms sweating, her knees weak. She’d licked her lips nervously so many times that they were chapped and it was getting on her nerves. She strode to his door and knocked. Tentatively, too lightly at first, and then waited. When no one came, she steeled herself and knocked louder. If he wasn’t home at twelve-thirty on a Monday night, she didn’t want to consider where he might be instead.
Chapter 15
At last the door swung open and there was Jack Fitzsimmons, black hair shaggy across his forehead, a wry half smile on his face, a white t-shirt that made her bite her lip. He was barefoot. Somehow the intimacy of that, of his total casual ease just undid her.
“Hey, Britt,” he said neutrally.
“Jack, I know you’re mad—” she broke off.
He had opened the door wider. Behind him on his stunning white couch was a woman. Also barefoot, her lovely blond hair swept artfully into a messy bun, long legs stretched out in front of her, she was doing something on her phone. Britt’s mouth fell open. He had a woman. Involuntarily, Britt took a step back. Shaking her head, she retreated down the hall.
“Britt—”
Jack called after her but she didn’t turn around. She’d broken into a run, as fast as wet flip flops would carry her. Once the elevator doors closed, she burst into tears. Already, after one day, he had moved on. In fact he’d moved on to a perfect blonde, gorgeous and already quite at home on his couch. She choked and sobbed as she hailed a taxi and rode home, dejected and even more humiliated. She knew when she went across town to beg his forgiveness she was leaving most of her dignity behind but she had no idea that the rest of it would be left in shreds outside his apartment where, even now, he was probably laughing with his hot girlfriend over his desperate ex stalking him during a rainstorm. They were probably drinking that six hundred dollar wine in bed, naked and both equally flawless, admiring their own physical perfection and ridiculing her. The thought made the guacamole lurch in her stomach.
She managed to avoid him for three whole days, resorting to hiding in the ladies room twice when she thought she heard him coming. She didn’t want to hear him say how sorry he was that she had to find out that way. She didn’t want to hear Jack’s empty apologies, his condolences on the fact that he had obviously moved on and she hadn’t. She was still grieving, the wound still fresh. On the fourth day, he came to her cube with the manila folder in hand. She nodded without a word and he set it down on her desk in a towering pile of folders.
“Listen, Britt...” he began.
“No, don’t. Really. Please. Don’t say anything.”
“I have to say this.”
“I’m asking you not to.” She stared down at her desk, unwilling to look at him, lest he see the tears standing in her eyes.
“Talk to me.”
“Not now.”
“How about we meet for lunch?”
“I feel nauseous. I can’t eat.”
He touched her cheek. The barest brush of his fingertips but it sent a jolt of recognition and longing through her body. “You’d tell me if you were pregnant, right?” He whispered very low.
“I’m not,” she said stonily. “I’m just upset.”
Clearly instead of touching her because he missed her, he was trying to determine the reproductive status of his precious seed. She scowled. She had started her period right on schedule the day before but she wasn’t going to go into that information with her ex. It cut her to think of Jack as her ex.
“I wish—” he began.
“Just. Go,” she said flatly, thinking she’d go crazy if he didn’t leave her cubicle instantly.
He filled up the whole space with his presence, it seemed to her. She needed him gone, so she could breathe again. It was like he sucked all the air out of the room just by being there. Her lungs felt like there was a vise around them. She could breathe just fine when he wasn’t around. She watched his shoes as he turned and walked out. Britt dropped her head onto her desk and gulped in air. She was officially incapable of behaving like a professional at all around him. Thank goodness she’d never gone to dinner with his dad. Then she’d have to hide from her boss as well. As it was, in their weekly staff meeting, she’d taken notes much more diligently than usual just to keep from having to look up and accidentally lock eyes with Jack. Locking eyes with Jack would trigger a sex flashback that would set her back for days in the getting over him process, she knew.
Chapter 16
Britt agreed to meet Marj for coffee after work and she sat there, trying not to be sullen.
“You’re not touching that muffin. What’s wrong?”