“So quit bugging me before I get tense again,” I said, resuming my walk across the yard. Actually, I did feel more relaxed. A sense of relief and even peace had eased the tension in my mind and body. My steps were lighter. My shoulders looser. My fingers free of the urge to curl into fists.
Whether that was because of the sex I’d had or the conclusions I’d drawn or the apologies I’d offered, I wasn’t sure. I had yet to suffer any debilitating guilt about having sex with Margot, which shocked me—I’d actually felt worse after the kiss. It had seemed more personal, somehow. Fucking her in the woods felt more like blowing off steam than anything else.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
But the real relief would come in nine days, once Margot was gone for good.
Eighteen
Margot
I was on edge the next morning. Too much coffee had me jittery, too little sleep had me restless, and too much time thinking about Jack had me unsettled. I didn’t feel right in my skin.
I spent the morning trying to catch up on work for other clients, but I struggled to focus. The tenderness between my legs, the soreness in my stomach muscles, the memory of my legs wrapped around his waist distracted me endlessly.
Stop it! It never happened!
After lunch, I took a walk on the beach, hoping a little exercise and Vitamin D might help.
It didn’t.
I tried to take a nap, which was a disaster since what I actually did was lie there and picture every inch of Jack’s naked body (good thing I’d gotten that view from the tree), and replay in my mind every second of The Fuck That Never Happened.
Irritated, I sat up and grabbed my phone. I felt like talking about it to someone, but I hesitated before calling Jaime for two reasons—one, I’d told her I wouldn’t bang the client, and two, I was supposed to be pretending I hadn’t. Telling her about it was not a step in that direction.
I could always call Claire instead, I thought. I’d have to start from the beginning since she didn’t know anything about Jack yet, but— My phone buzzed in my hand. Mom calling.
I cringed. My mother was the last person I wanted to talk to right now, but I dutifully took the call.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Margot. This is your mother.”
No matter how many times I told her she didn’t have to announce herself, she never failed to do it. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“Fine. I played tennis this morning and I’m about to meet Aunt Dodie for lunch.”
“Sounds nice.” Nothing ever changes in her world.
“So I have to run,” she breezed on, as if she hadn’t been the one to call me, “but I wanted to let you know you can come home whenever. Tripp was caught in flagrante delicto with a waitress at the country club. In the men’s locker room, of all places! Why any woman would want to go in there is beyond me.”
My jaw was hanging open. “Really?”
“Yes, it’s all anyone can talk about. Mimi Jewett’s beside herself, but if you ask me, she had it coming, the way she gossiped about you and The Incident.”
“Right.”
“So I don’t know what your plans are, but do be back for the Historical Society fundraiser at the end of the month. We’re hosting, and it’s important for Daddy’s campaign.”
“What’s the theme?”
“Gatsby.”
“Again?”
“People like tradition, dear.”
I sighed. It was useless to argue with Muffy on the subject of tradition. Her life was ruled by it. Mine was too, for the most part. “I’ll be there. Bye, Mom.”
I put my phone down and looked out the window at the lake. So thanks to Tripp (what an idiot), I could show my face again at home. And even though I was paid up here for nine more days, I knew hanging around any longer than necessary was probably a bad idea.
Because the more I thought about Jack Valentini, the more I wanted to see him again, get to know him better. Kiss him again. Touch him. Feel him inside me. Hear him whisper to me in the dark. Figure out why the chemistry between us was so good. Was it simply a case of opposites attract? Or was there more to it?
Sighing, I gave up trying to solve the riddle and admitted the truth.
There’s no way this can work. I should just leave.
I tidied up the cottage, packed my bags, and called Georgia, explaining that due to a family emergency I was leaving earlier than planned, but I’d be available by phone or FaceTime or Skype or whatever she wanted to use to keep in touch moving forward. She thanked me for my time and said she’d contact me as soon as they’d had a chance to discuss everything.
I also contacted Ann, the property manager for the cottage, and told her I was leaving sooner than expected, but I understood I wouldn’t get my money back.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll mail you a check for the security deposit.”
“Thank you. I’m about to get on the road, so I’ll leave the key on the counter.”