“Great,” he mumbled. “So I’m being punished because I work from home.”
Jason had a two-bedroom apartment in Hoboken, a city in New Jersey just across the Hudson River from the west side of Manhattan. It wasn’t a bad deal. The commute to the city was longer than some people liked, but he’d never minded. Plus, it was a hell of a lot more affordable than the city and enabled him to have enough space for a separate bedroom and a studio. In Manhattan, he’d be lucky to afford a place big enough to put his bed.
“What are you working on?” Kathleen asked, coming over and propping a hip on his desk as she glanced at his screen.
He rubbed his hands over his face and gave up on getting any serious work done until after his sister left. Jason shifted in his spinning chair so that he could better face Kathleen.
Pregnancy suited her, as did marriage in general. Her blue eyes were happy, her dark hair shiny in its high ponytail.
They didn’t look alike, not really. Just the same shared dark hair that a billion other people had. But it still made him proud to know that this feisty, vibrant woman was related to him. Somehow she’d come out of the same shit-faced foster system that he had, but whereas he’d spent years being bitter, she’d managed to make the most of it—managed to be grateful for the strength it had afforded her.
Then she’d gone a step beyond, found herself a guy who worshipped the ground she walked on and let him knock her up on their honeymoon.
She’d done well for herself, seeking out her happiness when it didn’t come directly to her, and her happiness made him happy.
Kathleen pointed a finger at him. “Oh no. Not that face. Don’t get dippy on me.”
He batted her hand aside, and she turned her attention back to the screen. “Holy crap! That’s the president. Former president. Whatever.”
Jason shrugged. “I told you I worked that wedding.”
“Right, right. I think I was half-asleep when you called to tell me. Last weekend, right?”
He nodded, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
One week.
It had been one week since he’d had the best sex of his life, with the only woman he’d ever cared about, only to wake up at three a.m., naked and alone.
She hadn’t even left a fucking note. She’d just been gone.
You could call her, the devil on his shoulder prompted. You could be an adult and initiate an actual conversation.
Right. He could call her. But just like last time, he didn’t want to have to chase someone down. Just once he wanted someone to care enough to stick around long enough to give him a fucking chance. Why should he go running after Leah when she’d been the one who’d left with no warning?
“Okay, scroll through; I want to see,” Kathleen said, motioning with her hand and jerking his attention back to the present. “I’d do it myself, but you’ll just do that ‘don’t touch my stuff’ tantrum again.”
Jason obeyed, obediently scrolling through the photos, smiling as she pointed out a half dozen faces that she recognized from the news.
“Wait, go back,” Kathleen said, her eyes narrowing. “Who’s that?”
Jason did, and then tensed when he saw the picture his sister was pointing at.
Leah.
There was one of her about every fiftieth picture or so. When he hadn’t been able to stop himself from capturing her smile.
He’d remove them all before he sent the finished photos to the Prestons, of course. But he wouldn’t get rid of them.
They were all he had left of her.
He tried to scroll forward, but his sister swatted his hand way from the mouse. “Hold on—I know her. But I feel like not from the news? I don’t think she’s in politics.”
“Drop it,” he snapped, his tone sharper than it usually was with her.
Kathleen gave him a startled look. “Hold up. Is she the reason you’ve had a stick up your ass all week? Did you sleep with her?”
He didn’t respond. He would never lie to Kathleen, but he stopped short of actively confirming details about his sex life.
“So that’s a yes, then,” she said in amusement. “Could it be that the pretty redhead didn’t call you back? That’d be a first, wouldn’t it? No, actually make that a second. There was that redhead from last year—”
Kathleen broke off, and Jason cursed as her eyes went wide as she put the pieces together. “That’s how I know her. That’s the woman that came over and freaked out when I opened the door!”
“Yeah, because you were fucking wearing my shirt,” he exploded.
“Okay,” she held up a finger. “It is so not my fault that the stupid travel mug you lent me was booby-trapped so that I spilled coffee all over my dress! It was either your gross clothes or a first-degree burn or whatever.”
Jason pushed his chair back and stood up, locking his fingers behind his head and going to the window. “Can we not talk about this? It’s not exactly a good memory.”