Lydia offers nothing in the way of conversation—or confrontation—and instead sits quietly with her eyes finding mine every now and then. She seems nervous now, and for some reason I don’t know how to handle this. I want to make this easier.
“This is a cute place,” I say and try to make it sound casual even though it’s so not, because in my heart I’m totally the other woman even if I’ve barely even touched her man. I guess lip to lip action, however very minimal, still counts as lip action though. So, maybe I’m more of a home-wrecker than I think?
“It is,” she says with a soft smile. She sounds happy. A waiter brings us our coffees. Lydia takes a sip of hers while I wait for mine to cool off a bit. “We met in this coffee shop.”
I stop breathing for a good long moment before I can manage to force my lungs to get going again. I’ll give her this—she doesn’t test the waters before diving in.
“If you’d like, I can take you on a tour of the landmarks of our relationship from start to finish. A few blocks away is the diner we ate at the night he told me he loves me for the first time.”
I keep my head down because she’s not stopping and it doesn’t really matter what I say. I’m the villain in her eyes. I just . . . can’t bear to look at her. If I’m being honest—I’m the villain in my eyes too.
“When we met, he and Hennessey were renting this crappy little apartment in Chinatown. It’s probably a mile or so down Broadway. Anyway, he made love to me for the first time in that apartment. It wasn’t the first time we fucked, though—that was someplace else. Would you like to hear about that?”
“No,” I say firmly and raise my head. I give her my full attention now. My heart is racing, palms sweating, and my stomach is freaking out on me. “Whatever you think is going on between me and Jameson isn’t, okay? We’re just friends.”
Friends.
Right.
“Cheating is about more than just touching, Melanie,” she says coolly. Her eyes betray the bored tone she’s going for. They’re wide and teary and the only thing about her that shows me that this conversation is hard on her. Somehow even harder on her than it is on me. “If Jameson just wanted to fuck you, it might be easier to handle.”
“Whatever is going on in your relationship—”
“He has good taste in jewelry,” she says and lifts a hand to the small diamonds in her ears. My hand finds its way to my gold wishbone. I don’t address her comment, because I don’t have a defense.
“I’m torn between hating you and realizing that you’re not the problem. Jameson is. I’ve lost his attention.” She blows out a breath and sniffles. I didn’t realize it was possible, but I feel terrible for her. She obviously loves him, and this is painful for her. I can’t even process what’s happening right now. I haven’t really done anything wrong. One tiny kiss. It wasn’t right, but I know that now. It’s definitely not what she seems to be accusing me of though.
“You’re right. I’m not the problem. Your relationship is your problem. If you have an issue with it, you talk to your boyfriend about it, not me.”
“You love him, so you know how amazing he is. I hope you understand that I’m going to fight for him.”
For the first time since she walked into the house, I don’t feel consumed by shame and guilt. The entire morning’s been one shit storm after another, and this is the final straw. I’m done.
“Let me lay it out for you, Lydia. I like Jameson, and by ‘like’ I mean I like him a lot. He’s smart and funny and sexy and thoughtful in ways I’ve only dreamed about. When I say I like him, I mean that I like him enough to be selfish with him and to want him to want me enough to get rid of you. But I’m just the girl who falls for the wrong guy at the wrong time. He’s yours as long as he chooses to be. I’m not trying to steal him from you, but let me be perfectly clear when I say this.” I clear my throat and make sure I have her full attention before continuing. “You can corner me, shame me, and make me feel two inches tall all you’d like. It doesn’t change the fact that the man you love doesn’t exactly feel the same for you. You want to fight for him? Go for it, but I’m done.”
I stand from the table and stomp out of the cute little cafe that I’ll never set foot in again. It’s hard enough feeling the way I do about Jameson and knowing he has a girlfriend, but it’s a whole other ball game to be ambushed by his girlfriend. I’m back at the fire house before I can calm myself down. Chief Delgado is at the desk with his brows drawn together and his eyes downcast.
“Let me give you some unsolicited advice, Kincaid,” he says and lifts my phone in the air so I can see the screen. Texts are pouring in from Jameson, one after the other. Some edging the line of flirty and inappropriate for friends—CHIEF ISN’T AS CUTE AS YOU AT THE DESK—and others panicky—WHERE DID YOU GO?