Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(31)

“Oh . . .” A deep frown furrows his brow. “I figure twice is enough for me.”

“Is it because of Annabelle? Did she screw you up that bad?”

“It’s because of a lot of things, Reese’s Pieces.” He smiles sadly. “I let go of that hurt a long time ago. Holding on to people who don’t want your love is never healthy.” He heaves a big sigh. “Maybe if I meet the right woman, things will change.”

“Well, you’ve certainly caught Ms. Sexton’s attention,” I tease with a smile, knowing I can get away with it. Jack’s a real easygoing, tolerant guy.

He cringes. “I prefer someone a little more . . . refined.” Despite what her last name may suggest, with a chronic case of black roots and a cigarette always hanging out of her mouth, Ms. Sexton is about as far from the sexy single neighbor as you can get. Divorced twice, the Boston native’s nasally voice makes her accent decidedly unattractive. You can usually find her watering her lawn. She’s the one wearing lime-green spandex leggings, a sports bra, and Crocs. The fact that she has birthed four kids and has an old-school caesarian scar running vertically down her stomach doesn’t dissuade the fifty-year-old from flaunting what she may have had at some point, twenty-five years ago. I’m surprised there haven’t been official complaints from the community. It’s an upper-middle-class neighborhood of sizeable detached homes and landscaped properties.

Jack leans down to place a soft kiss on top of my head. “Good night.”

“’Night, Jack,” I mumble, but then call out, “Jack?”

He stops and turns, a questioning look on his face.

“Do you believe in fighting for something you want?”

“I’m a lawyer, Reese. All I do is fight,” he acknowledges with a grin, but then frowns. “Why?”

“No reason. Just curious.”

With a hand on my doorknob, he studies me for a moment. “You’re staying out of trouble, right?”

I rest my head down against my pillow. “So far.”

There’s a pause and then a sigh of exasperation. “Good night, Reese.”

“Good night, Jack.”

As soon as the door clicks, I roll over and grab my laptop to do something I haven’t done in months.

“Good ol’ Facebook. Helping people stalk since two thousand and . . .” I mutter, pulling up Jared’s profile page, gritting my teeth in preparation.

Just as I had expected. Picture after picture of flowers and bows and a giant f*cking white dress plaster his wall. All posted by Caroline. Really? A church wedding? Jared’s an atheist. There must be five hundred people filling this place to watch the atheist get married. Jared hates crowds.

He’s smiling in every single picture; I can’t deny that. And he looks just as knee-buckling handsome in a tux. Still . . .

A new post pops up as I creep his profile. Surprise, surprise. She strikes again!

My big sexy man is going to protect me here, tomorrow morning! What should I wear?



There’s a link attached to an extreme paintball park north of Miami.

My stomach tightens. I love paintball. Jared and I used to go all the time, usually dragging Lina and Nicki along. I even have my own camouflage outfit and a semiautomatic paintball gun.

I click on the link to read about the establishment—family-owned and operated for twenty-five years. That’s always a plus. It means they know how to run things and they’ll have enough referees. It’s a huge field north of the city, with a wooded area. I much prefer those to the inner-city ones, where you’re crammed into a warehouse building. This also means that there will probably be a lot of players. With all the protective gear and masks on, it’s hard to identify a person . . .

I can’t go alone. I mean, I’m not above crazy, but that’s a little bit too much. No, I need to go with my people. I quickly text Lina and Nicki:

Paintball. Tomorrow. Nine a.m. You bitches are with me, right?



I’m not going to tell them why. It doesn’t matter. We’ll have fun either way.

Nicki responds immediately with a simple “in.” Lina takes a few minutes longer, even though I know she has read it.

In, as long as I can bring the guy I’m seeing.



After I agree to that, because I really don’t care who she brings as long as I have a chance to nail Caroline in the head with a splatter of red paint, we figure out logistics and sign off of our group chat. I lie back in my bed and sigh.

Shit.

I forgot about Ben. By the time we get out there and back, shower, eat, and all that . . . I’m not going to want sit in an office all freaking afternoon.

I scroll to find Ben’s number, thankful that we exchanged contact information before heading our separate ways today:

Sorry, can’t help you tomorrow. Something came up.



And then I shut my phone off.





Chapter 10




BEN





“Something came up”? What the f*ck does that mean! No way am I letting her ditch me. We got so much accomplished today.

Hell no.

I’m lying in bed as I quickly type out:

You can’t bail. You still owe me for today and I need your help.