The man owed it to her to look her in the eye and explain.
“You okay, sweetie?” Daisy asked, rubbing Taylor’s back as the three women stepped into the afternoon sunshine.
“Never better,” Taylor said, linking arms with her two best girls and forcing a smile.
“Really? Because you were just dumped less than a month ago, and you’re moving in with your mortal enemy,” Brit pointed out.
Taylor laughed. “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re the best friend or the worst.”
“For real, though, how are you so happy right now?” Brit pressed. “I’d be neck deep in wine or ice cream. Or both.”
That’s because you weren’t raised by Karen Carr, Taylor thought.
Her aunt hadn’t believed in breakdowns. Taylor wasn’t even sure she knew how to have one. She didn’t know how to deal with rejection with anything other than battle armor and a plan.
And now plan B was firmly in play.
She just wished she hadn’t been so stupid as to make the plan dependent on Nick Ballantine.
Chapter 5
“You’re not really moving out.”
Nick pulled a piece of tape taut over the top of yet another box and fought the urge to ask his ex how the hell she translated the enormous pile of boxes as anything but him moving out.
Instead he smiled and turned toward the doorway where she stood, moodily nursing a glass of chardonnay. “You’ll barely notice I’m gone.”
“Well, that’s true,” Jackie muttered. “I never see you anymore.”
Because we’re broken up.
But he didn’t bother wasting his breath. He’d told Jackie weeks ago that things weren’t working out, and based on the weeklong cryfest that had followed, he’d thought she’d understood.
But if there was anyone who could manage to play the parts of jilted ex and clingy girlfriend simultaneously, it was this woman. She alternated between being in complete denial that they weren’t dating and noisily heartbroken.
“There’s no rush for you to get out of here,” he said, grabbing an empty box and dropping it in front of the dresser, then proceeding to unload a drawerful of undershirts into it. “Lease is good through the end of next month.”
“So why are you moving out now?” she whined.
“Aw, come on, Jackie. You’ll be better off without your ex lurking around,” he said, keeping his voice as kind as he could.
It wasn’t her fault he was such an idiot. Nor was it her fault that his real men treat women with respect upbringing meant that he didn’t have the heart to forcibly move her out of his place.
This would be a better clean break for both of them, and maybe the fresh start he needed to get back to being his old self.
Once upon a time, Nick had been the type of guy who knew how to read women. The guy who’d taken one look at a broad and known whether she was a good-time girl, a hot mess, or a take-home-to-Mom type of girl.
But ever since the thing with Kelsey, he’d been…off.
Case in point: When Jackie had sidled up to his bar a couple of months ago, he’d pegged her right off as sweet, fun, and the perfect no-strings-attached rebound.
After a couple of weeks of casual dating, she’d offhandedly mentioned a problem with her landlord, but laughed it off like it was no big deal, said she’d get a hotel.
Nick hadn’t thought twice about offering to let her crash at his place for a few nights while she figured it out.
It wasn’t the biggest miscall he’d ever made when it came to a woman, but it was definitely in the top five.
Almost overnight, Jackie had gone from being a fun girl who loved to laugh and never busted his balls about calling to an emotional basket case who assumed every text message he received was from another woman and thought every work shift was an excuse to “whore around.”
Was it annoying? Hell yes.
But he blamed himself a lot more than he blamed her. Well, maybe his ex a bit too. She hadn’t just ripped his heart out—once he’d realized how badly he’d misread her, he’d lost confidence in his ability to read women at all.
Jackie was hardly his first mistake in the past few months. She was just the most dramatic.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he pulled it out, unsurprised to see that it was yet another Facebook message from his mother. At least he was pretty sure it was his mom. His parents did that thing where they combined their Facebook presence into one profile, so every communication came from BelindaandBob Ballantine. But Nick wasn’t certain if his father even realized that he was on Facebook.
However, the real reason he knew it was his mother was that the message was unabashedly prying.
Nick, honey, I don’t know if you saw my text and email, but your brother said you were moving? Send me your address, I’ll send a housewarming gift. Should I be shopping for a bachelor pad, or…?
Nick rolled his eyes and typed a reply. No gifts, Mom. I’m not twenty-two, have everything I need.
She was apparently online, because her response was almost instantaneous. Really? You have my homemade oatmeal cookies? Because they could be overnighted….
Nick hesitated…then texted his new address.
Thanks, honey! Belinda wrote back. Now, should I send a batch big enough for two people, or just the one…?
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, shoving his phone back into his pocket without replying. He’d call his mother later and explain the situation.
Not that she’d believe him. He couldn’t mention a female’s name without his mom using the word wedding in the same conversation.
“Where are you moving to?” Jackie asked, clearly sulking over being ignored.
“Uptown,” he said, dumping his socks in the box. “Closer to work.”
“Which work? Oxford or the bar?”
“Both,” he said, reaching for the tape.
It was technically true. Taylor’s Upper East Side apartment was just a couple of blocks from the hotel bar where he worked a few days a week, but it was also closer to the Oxford offices than his current Lower East Side place.
“How’d you find it, again?”
The again was a trap. He hadn’t told her the first time. He didn’t owe Jackie any explanations, and he’d learned the hard way that telling someone like Jackie that he was moving in with another woman, no matter how platonic—and antagonistic—the situation, was begging for trouble.
“A co-worker needed a roommate,” he said tersely.
“Which co-worker?”
“Taylor.”
He’d never given much thought to Taylor Carr’s unisex name, but damn if he wasn’t grateful for it now.
“Have I met him?”
Nick finished taping the box and opened the rest of the dresser drawers to make sure he’d gotten everything.
“I’ve got a couple of guys coming by tomorrow at nine to help me load the truck,” he said, turning to face Jackie and ignoring her question. “I’ll get all this stuff out of your hair, and you can have the closet all to yourself.”
She pouted. “I don’t want it all to myself. I want you.”