Can't Look Away(62)
“So how long have you lived with your boyfriend?” I asked. I hadn’t eaten since lunch—a healthy salad from Chopped—and I could feel the alcohol working its way through my system, wrapping itself around my senses. I was getting drunk.
Liz pointed her chin forward in thought. “Since the summer. Eight months.”
“And before that you lived with the Danner Lane girl?”
“Yes.” She laughed softly. “Danner Lane girl. A.k.a., the now-famous Molly of ‘Molly’s Song.’” Liz’s lips curled into a sly smile, and her eyes looked a little unfocused. Perhaps she was tipsy, too.
“I’ve heard that song.”
“Right. Who hasn’t?” Liz cocked her head. “It’s an overrated song, in my humble opinion.”
“I assume that means they’re back together?”
Liz stared at me, her dark brows knitting together. “Huh?”
“Didn’t you say … before, you said … they broke up.” I felt my face flush. “Maybe not.”
“Oh.” Liz shifted on her stool. “A couple of months ago, right. Yeah, that was short-lived. He cheated on her, I guess—she saw some picture of it. But he claimed he didn’t and that someone set him up or something.” Liz shrugged. “Molly kind of sugarcoated it when she told me the story. She knows, obviously, that I don’t trust Jake.”
“You don’t?” I leaned forward on the bar, pressing my elbows into the stained wood.
“Hell no.” Liz clinked the watery ice around in her glass. “He’s a gorgeous fucking rock star, with an ego the size of Mount Everest. She hardly even knew him when they moved in together—it had barely been six months. And now he’s cheated on her and she’s in denial, and it’s not the first time something sketchy like that happened, either. It’s just kind of … pathetic. I always thought Molly had more self-worth than this.”
I studied Liz’s face, the slightest hint of jealousy etched into her expression. And of course she was jealous, Molly. You had Jake Danner on your arm—a gorgeous fucking rock star, like she said. I felt powerful, suddenly, knowing my little scheme had been so effective. You and Jake had reunited, okay, but even your friends thought you were pathetic to forgive him so easily.
“Well, do you think they’ll last?”
“Who the fuck knows.” Liz peered at me quizzically, scrunching her nose. “Why are you so curious?”
“I … I’m not.” The bartender caught my eye, and though I wanted nothing more than to order another drink—to stay there at the sleek, comfortable bar prying Liz about you and Jake all night long—I sensed my time was up. “Sorry, I just … Jake looks so much like my ex. I’m kind of a fangirl.”
“Ha. You and every other chick in the city, it seems.” Liz held up her palm, waving for the check. She turned back to me. “Well, trust me when I say Molly and Jake are boring as hell these days. If she ever ditches him, I’ll let you know.”
The bill appeared in front of us. Liz dug out her wallet—black Chanel—but I swatted my hand. “I got it,” I insisted, dropping four twenties on the bar. No way was I using my credit card—what if Liz happened to see my real name?
“Cool.” She slipped on her trench coat. “I never carry cash. What’re you, Caitlin, a drug dealer?”
We walked out onto the street, a chilly wind nipping our faces.
“It’s going to be May next week, and it’s fucking arctic.” Liz frowned, pulling her jacket closer. “Spring in New York is so deceiving.”
I nodded in agreement. “It’s supposed to be nice this weekend, I think.”
Liz stuck her arm out at an approaching cab. “Thanks for the drinks, Caitlin. I’ll get the next round.”
I smiled to myself as her cab pulled away. I watched it break at the light before hooking a left on East Forty-fifth Street, relief drenching my bones. I hadn’t fucked it up. I’ll get the next round. There would be a next round.
Liz would be my ally. She would be my inside source of all knowledge of you and Jake. And knowledge is power, Molly. The more I knew, the easier it would be for me to tear the two of you apart—for good this time.
Chapter Twenty-six
Molly
2015
That first day at the coffee shop, Molly and Hunter didn’t get any work done. After ten minutes of sitting across from each other—half working, half chatting—Hunter closed his laptop and asked if he could buy her a cup of coffee.
She glanced down at her latte. “I’ve got one, but thanks.” She closed her own computer. Molly was sick of picking apart her manuscript, endlessly searching for ways to make it worthy of a book deal, and the man in front of her was nice to look at. Not Jake attractive, but tall, dark, and handsome in a grown-up looking way that reminded her of the dads in kid movies who shaved every day and wore crisp, clean suits to work and always carried the newspaper. Molly thought he had to be at least thirty.
“Right.” Hunter’s smile was slightly crooked, but endearing. Like that cute actor, Molly couldn’t remember his name. Rory’s love interest on Gilmore Girls. “So what are you working on?”
“Editing a novel.” Molly gave him a synopsis of the manuscript, explained that she’d been signed by a literary agent but that they were still trying to find the right editor for it. She noticed, as she was talking, how much confidence she’d acquired over the past two years. She used to hate discussing her writing with strangers—it had made her feel exposed, presumptuous. But then Jake—a successful “working” artist—had deemed her a writer, and it became a label she stopped questioning, one she started to wear with pride. Molly wondered, fleetingly, why she had needed Jake to believe in her before she believed in herself. It didn’t feel romantic or fated, as it once had in the beginning. It felt wrong.