Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(24)

“Look.” Ben rests his elbows on the table as he stares at me with that penetrating gaze that probably enraptures many women. “If I promise to never mention anything to do with Cancún again, can we start over?” He dips his head a bit, his big blue eyes full of sincerity. “What do you need me to do? Cry? Grovel? I’ll do whatever you want. Please.”

I like this side of Ben. I’m sure it doesn’t happen often, and I’m sure he has this conversation well planned out, but still. I like listening to him beg.

“Come on. Anything. Do you want something embarrassing to hold over my head, too?”

The spark of interest—not so much about balancing the scales as curiosity about what could possibly embarrass this jackass—must be evident in my face because he quickly pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket. “Here, look at this. At least there’s no concrete evidence of you ass-up on the ground.” Not sure what to expect, I take the proffered iPhone, acutely aware of his fingers grazing mine in the exchange, and turn it around to see a guy climbing up onto a stage of some sort, with a scrap of what looks like a pink bikini riding up his ass and a set of—“Oh, my God! Is that . . .?” With a cringe, I zoom in on the screen to see a very unflattering angle of Ben.

“Yup. I keep waking up to texts of these pictures from my friend. She must have taken about fifty of them. Thinks it’s hilarious.” Ben smoothly grabs the phone out of my hand as I burst out in laughter.

“I need to meet this friend. I like her already.”

“Yeah, you’d probably get along well with Kacey. You’re a lot alike.” Pausing to drop his phone back into his pocket, he suddenly turns serious. “Look, I’m drowning in this shit, Reese. And June . . . holy f*ck!” His enormous hands cover his face, dragging down to reveal his frustration. “If I have to sit in a room with her for one more hour, I think I’ll slit my f*cking wrists. I can’t be spending every weekend in the office. My mom runs a citrus grove and she’s gonna need me there when the season opens, and I just need help. Please help me.”

I heave a sigh. Maybe he did learn his lesson. Maybe . . . my thoughts trail as I watch the hostess lead two people to a table on the other side of the patio. I recognize that slight swagger in the guy’s step; the curly wisps of hair around his ears and down the back of his neck are slightly longer, urging fingers to swirl them.

Waves of emotion crash into me as I watch Jared slide into a chair. He’s wearing his usual dark blue jeans, hanging off his hips provocatively. I’m sure that if I lifted up that soft gray T-shirt, I’d see the elastic band of his Calvin Klein briefs—he won’t wear anything else. His naturally dark skin is darker than normal, as if he’s been spending more time in the sun. He probably is, if he’s working outside. His arms also seem bigger than they . . .

“Earth to Reese?” I hear Ben call out, adding, “What is it with chicks gaping out?”

I manage to turn my attention back to Ben’s waiting face for all of three seconds before I’m compelled back to Jared.

And I watch. Like a lunatic who deserves a sedative cocktail and a padded room, I watch Jared for the first time in almost nine months, as he entwines his fingers through hers and brings her hand to his lips, kissing it softly, mouthing something that looks like “I love you.”

He used to do that with me.

“Shit,” I mutter, swallowing the rising sickness and jealousy as I angle my face away, trying to discreetly block my profile with my hand should Jared glance over in this direction.

“What is it?” Ben begins, turning in his seat.

My hand flies out to land on his cheek, slapping it as I push his face back to me. “Nothing. I’m ready to go.”

He easily overpowers my strength, his bright blues quickly scanning the tables. Somehow he zones in on the right one. Or wrong one, depending on who you’re asking. “Who are they?”

“Who is who?” Playing dumb has never been my strong suit.

“That smokin’-hot redhead and the dude?”

“She’s not that hot!” I snap, and then grit my teeth as the grin hits Ben’s face. He was baiting me and I failed. I can’t help my attention from wandering over to their table again. My stomach constricts as I watch her flip her hair over her shoulder and giggle as he says something, his smile radiant. Try as I might, I can’t stop staring at him, as the hollow ache of betrayal throbs inside my chest, remembering his pale green eyes . . .

And suddenly those pale green eyes are focused on me.

I freeze like a squirrel caught within the sight lines of a car as the various stages—meaninglessness to recognition to shock to worry—flicker across his face, as Jared realizes that his crazy ex-wife is sitting only a few tables over. And when Caroline realizes that she has lost her husband’s undivided attention, she turns to see what could possibly be more important.

Thankfully I manage to break eye contact before her gaze lands on me, and now I’m back to staring at Ben with what I imagine looks like panic. “Keep your eyes on me, please,” I beg.

“That’s not hard to do.” I think that was flattery but right now, it’s not working on me.

Shit. I knew that one day fate would play a cruel joke on me. The world is too small and cold-hearted for it not to. But it wasn’t supposed to happen so soon and like this. Not in my faded jeans, and ratty old T-shirt and black boots, and with helmet-head hair. I am supposed to be the smoking-hot one.