“I do. I’m sorry, but I do. I have feelings for him, feelings that run so strong and so deep. Until this fucking novel came along, I’d kept them buried, and I thought they’d stay buried forever. And I’m scared, I’m really fucking scared. I’m afraid of what will happen. I’m afraid because I just saw my first love for the first time in over a decade, and he just stood there with complete indifference. And I’m scared because you’re standing here in front of me, and I’m being honest with you in a way that will definitely destroy our relationship. And I’m scared because I feel like my heart is going to blow up into a million pieces inside of my chest.”
Trevor squared his jaw, and I could see the muscles in his face flexing. A born athlete like Trevor really only comes to life when there’s a challenge. Up until that point, he had moseyed through our relationship like he was warming up for a game with some jumping jacks. But now he realized he was already in the fourth quarter, there were mere seconds left on the clock, and he was down by three. Would he run the ball and try to get in field goal range? Or would he throw a Hail Mary and try to win it all right here?
“Marry me and forget him,” he said with no trace of emotion.
I actually laughed. Hail Mary it is. “This is a strange moment to propose, don’t you think?”
“It’s actually not. This is real life, Emi, not some fantasy. This isn’t a novel.”
I wanted to say that novels weren’t always fantasies. The book Jase had written certainly wasn’t.
“I know this is real life, Trevor. I’m the most realistic person you will ever meet. But if you think any woman would be happy with a proposal like this, clearly made in desperation, then you’re crazy. It’s been seven years. We’ve never even talked about moving in together.”
He threw his hands up. “Is that my fault or yours?”
“I don’t want to play the blame game with you.” The truth was, it was both of our faults. We weren’t right for each other. We were both just going through the motions.
“Do I need to get down on one knee to show you I’m serious? Is that what you’re saying?” He rolled his eyes.
I was ready to end the conversation. “Please don’t. I have to go, Trevor. I don’t feel well. I need to go home and recover from this crazy day.”
“Fine.” He bent and kissed me on the cheek. “Will you just please meet me for dinner tonight?”
I huffed, and he shook his head. “Don’t do that, Emi. Just meet me for dinner. Let’s talk when we’ve calmed down.”
“Okay,” I said after another long, deep breath. He kissed me again on the shoulder, got into his truck, and drove off, peeling onto the street in the process.
I got into my car and started the engine when a knock on my window startled me. It was the girl who worked at the checkout counter of the bookstore, motioning for me to roll down my window.
“Christ, lady, you scared the crap out of me,” I said.
“Sorry. I just wanted to catch you before you left. J. Colby asked me to give this to you.” She handed me a note.
“Thank you.” I took it, rolled up the window, and unfolded the piece of paper.
We need to talk . . . alone. Meet me on the terrace at George’s at ten tonight.
A wave of nausea hit me, and I rested my head on the steering wheel. Tears ran steadily down my cheeks as I tried desperately to regain some control. The smell of a leftover Big Mac on my passenger seat—the forgotten remains of my stress-eating binge from my drive over here—was making everything worse. My skin felt oilier than usual.
I heaved once, jumped out of the car, ran to a small patch of grass near the parking lot entrance, and purged the entire contents of my stomach in one stream of vomit. I put my hands on my knees and tried to catch my breath.
The woman who had given me the note came running over. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I choked out.
She put her hand on my back. “Let me get you some water.”
I looked up at her with tears in my eyes. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” She ran off and came back moments later.
I had gone back to lean against my Honda. “Is he still in there?” I said as she approached me with a bottle of water.
“No. He went out the back.”
“Of course he did,” I said, under my breath.
She leaned against the car next to me. “I’m Beth, by the way.” She had bright pink hair and a T-shirt with matching pink bows on it that said BOOKWORM.
“I like your shirt. I’m Emiline. I’d shake your hand, but I have McDonald’s vomit on mine.”
We both laughed and it made everything better for a moment. “So that must have been quite a note he left you. If I got a note from J. Colby, I’d be freaking out too.”
“It’s just a receipt,” I lied.
“Oh,” she said, laughing.
“You a big fan?” I asked.
“Probably his number one fan. He’s so talented and gorgeous and sweet.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her. “You know the book isn’t totally true.”
“Of course. Why would I think it was? It’s a novel.”
“I thought maybe you thought he was Jax.”
“It did cross my mind in the beginning. I just think it’s amazing how well he can write from a girl’s perspective. He’s so tuned in to women, you know?”
I sighed. “I guess. I’m gonna go, Beth.”
“Okay, well, I hope you feel better.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and walked back toward the store. “Seriously, thank you!” I called out to her.
“No problem,” she yelled back.