When the line moved past the bookshelves, I could finally see the table where Jase was sitting, but his head was down as he signed books. Every once in a while, he would look up to the person he was talking to and smile or shake hands. When he stood to take a picture, he looked taller than I remembered. There wasn’t much of the boy I used to know in him anymore. He carried his broad shoulders confidently, and he smiled a lot. He seemed charming and friendly. It was too bad I wanted to beat up his beautiful face.
With my head down, I continued to move with the line until the last woman in front of me was standing at his table. I kept my distance and looked at the shelf to my right until I heard him say to the lady, “It’s so nice to meet you—thank you for coming.”
When I looked up, he was standing, staring right at me, but his face gave nothing away. I took three hesitant steps toward him until we were standing directly across from each other. A beautiful woman dressed in stilettos and a pencil skirt stood behind him, just off to his left. She was staring at me the same way . . . impassive.
He blinked. I blinked. There was silence.
“Jason,” I finally said.
“Emiline,” he said.
Screw you and your smooth voice.
The woman behind him sauntered up to the table. “Did you want to buy a book, sweetie, and have Mr. Colby sign it for you?”
Without taking his eyes off me, he responded, “I’ve got this. Can you give me a minute, Andrea?”
She shook her head and then walked away. I couldn’t find my voice. He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. His lips were flat, his expression inscrutable, but his eyes were probing mine for something, some clue, some tell.
“Why?” I said.
He grinned.
What the hell? “Don’t smile at me,” I quipped.
He jerked his head back and scowled. Did he not understand why I would be angry?
“Why . . .” I repeated, but couldn’t find the right words to continue.
“Why, what?” Now he looked confused.
“Why on earth did you lie?” I said finally.
Something happened in his eyes, and then his expression went back to that same inscrutable look. “It’s a work of fiction, Emiline. Did you not read the disclaimer on the copyright page?” He looked past me toward the door, indifferent, like he wanted to leave.
Don’t cry, Emiline. It’s not your fault he grew up to be an asshole.
“What did you do to us?” My voice broke. “What have you done?”
“Did you read the book?”
“I read enough.”
“Why didn’t you finish it? That’s not like you.”
“You don’t know me anymore, Jason.” He winced. “I haven’t seen or heard from you in twelve years,” I said.
Andrea called out to Jase as she walked by. “You’ve got about five minutes, Jay. We have an interview to get to.”
“Who is that woman?” I asked.
“My agent.”
“Oh, your agent? I see. So you’re a big shot now?”
He just shook his head. I still couldn’t read his expression. “This isn’t how I expected . . .”
“Expected what?” I shot back.
There were another several moments of awkward silence. I wanted to peel my skin off, leave it on the floor, and run away. Yet Jase didn’t seem the least bit ruffled, and aside from that moment of confusion, he just remained cold and impassive. I looked him up and down, standing in front of an endcap dedicated to his successful book, perfectly composed in his glorious beauty, with his chiseled jaw and perfectly mussed-up, golden-brown hair.
I made a frustrated sound. “Ugh.”
He frowned. “What’s wrong, Emiline?”
“Stop saying my name.” I balled my hands into fists. “I can’t . . . I’m just . . . I’m frustrated. I came here to chew you out and you’re just standing there like . . . ugh.”
He chuckled and uncrossed his arms. “Standing here like what? Chew me out if you have to. Go ahead.”
“You’re just . . . dammit . . . Why are you so good-looking?” The last part came out like a cry. I wanted to punch the smirk off his face.
“Well, you’re beautiful. So there.” I froze. “Then again, you always were.”
“Oh, don’t charm me with your wordy magic.”
For a moment, a real smile, not some shit-eating grin, came to his lips. And just like that, in an instant, we were fifteen again.
I held my hand up. “I’m done here. You’re free to go to your interview.”
I started to turn and walk away, but he grabbed my arm and spun me around. “You didn’t come here to tell me I’m good-looking.”
That was the damn truth. But as I stood in front of him, I couldn’t find the words to say what I wanted to say: Where have you been? What was your life like? Did you miss me? Did I mean as much to you as you meant to me? Why’d you turn us in? I couldn’t find the courage to make myself vulnerable like that. Not when he had everything I wanted.
“I came here because you lied in the book.”
“Call it artistic license. Anyway, I think you should finish it.”
“You painted a really nice picture of yourself, didn’t you?” My hand was in my hair, twirling it into a massive knot. I could see that he noticed the childhood habit, but I didn’t want him to feel like he still knew me. I pulled my hand down and blinked.
“I can tell you still haven’t worked through everything,” he said. “Why didn’t you finish the book?”
“I was mad that you lied.”