“Yeah?” I respond with as much breeziness as possible.
“Thank you for being a good friend to my sister.”
I scowl, though he can’t feel its chilling effects, more’s the pity. “I love her. I don’t do it for you, jackass.”
Joey laughs softly. And I picture him shaking his head at my inability to control or edit what comes out of my mouth. “Of course not,” he says. “I just want you to know that I always rest easier knowing you’re there for her, and that, like now, you’d let me know if you were worried about something.”
Well, that just makes me feel like a shit. Like I’m spying on her for him or something. Gritting my teeth, I try and work out how to express myself. Joseph Butler can make me mad by just existing. Throw in shit like this, and I can’t think straight.
“Look,” he says. “I know you didn’t do this for me. But I appreciate it all the same. I hope we can be friends when I come home.”
“I thought, according to you, we were friends. My bad.” I mentally say a thousand thank yous that he can’t see my face. Friends was apparently all he ever thought we were. Even when I was eighteen and naked under his body.
“Jazz.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, okay. I don’t know how many times I need to say it. Or for how long. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I snap, hating myself more with every passing second of this stupid, stupid, stupid lapse in judgment I’ve had by calling him.
“Clearly, it’s still not. God, I wish I could go back and stop anything happening between us. But I can’t. I can only apologize.”
“Well, that’s the difference then,” I respond, unable to be anything but honest. “I don’t. I don’t wish it away. I’d never change it. I just wish we’d had a different ending.” Or any ending at all, actually.
“Then I guess that’s what I’m sorry for.”
“Whatever,” I say and fumble as I blindly hit the button to end the call. I’m breathing hard. Why the hell did I call him?
Is there anything worse in this world than being desperately in love with someone who is simply … indifferent to you?
AFTER THE LONG drive back from Florida, I slip through the sliding door of my bedroom in the ground floor apartment I share with Mom. It’s always been easier than walking around to the front entrance. I dump my stuff on the floor and crawl under my blankets, wincing from the sunburn, to catch up on some much needed sleep.
Waking around two in the afternoon, I take a cold shower and stop by the Snapper Grill to find Keri Ann, figuring I’ll try there before heading to the Butler house. There’s no way Keri Ann would blow off work, Jack or no Jack. She still hasn’t called me back.
She yelps when she sees me, flinging herself into my arms.
“Dang!” I cringe as her hands make contact with my singed back. “Give a lobster a break.”
She must feel the heat from my skin. “Oh, man, I’m sorry.”
“Fell asleep by the pool and stupid Brandon just let me burn.” I turn briefly and show her.
“Ow,” Keri Ann says, arching an eyebrow. “So he’s stupid Brandon now? And what are you doing here?”
“Yeah, well. I needed a break. And I want to go check my placement up at Campus. And Florida’s even hotter than here.” I follow her and take a seat at the bar. How do I explain what’s wrong with Brandon? “Brandon’s sweet most of the time, and he’s got the prettiest face, but seriously, he just doesn’t think sometimes, ya know? And don’t get me started on his decision-making. I’m all modern woman, but I’m craving me some alpha-male right now.” I roll my eyes. “Being with him is like taking care of a child.”
She hands me an Arnold Palmer made with sweet tea and laughs. “Yet you’re the one with a sunburn?”
I stick my tongue out at her, belatedly noticing how busy the place is. Keri Ann fills me in on the fact Jack Eversea and his friend Devon showed up at the Grill last night after she’d specifically asked him to stay away from her. And that my friend Ashley from college had been here and licked his ear and offered to blow him. Nice friends I have.
We have so much to catch up on, I decide to wait out her shift and then head home with her. The place is hopping. Seriously. I guess everyone is hoping the celebrities show up again.
LATER, IN KERI ANN’S kitchen, I make the delicious discovery of left over Twice-Baked Pecan Pie Cake that Mrs. Weaton, her neighbor, has made. I’d go out with Brandon again for a slice of that. We pop some in the microwave and then carry on chatting. This kitchen feels like home. I’m so glad I left Florida early.
“So also?” Keri Ann says putting her fork down and taking her damned time eating that cake. If she leaves it much longer I’ll dive across the table.
“What?” I ask.
“Also.” She grimaces. “Jack said he hasn’t slept with anyone since we broke up.”
I stop chewing. Jack Eversea, star of recent tabloid sleaze-fest hasn’t slept with anyone? Since last October?