Complete Me(108)

“You’re right,” she says as she pours two and passes me one. I’m not really in the mood, but I take it anyway. Best friend solidarity and all that. “I don’t have a drinking problem; I have a f*cking problem.”

I happen to agree, so I wisely say nothing and just take a sip from my mimosa. Since Jamie is a reasonably observant person who happens to know me well, my silence isn’t lost on her. She shrugs. “I know,” she says. “Nothing you haven’t been telling me for years.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” I say. “You were lucky, James. But this could have been bad.”

She doesn’t meet my eyes. I’m not surprised. Jamie has moments of self-awareness, but long contemplation is not her strong suit. But at least the wheels are turning.

“I called Ollie,” she says. I blink, confused by the transition. “I’m elaborating on my f*cking problem,” she says, by way of explanation. “I called him after Raine got me fired from the commercial.”

“Oh, Jamie,” I say. “You promised me. For that matter, he promised me. He told me there wasn’t anything going on with you two anymore.”

“Wait. You talked to him? When?”

“He was in Germany,” I say. “The firm sent him over to help with the trial. You didn’t know?”

She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him. Not since . . . well, not since he came over that night.”

“You called him.” It’s not just a statement. It’s an accusation. Hell, it’s a reprobation.

“I needed someone to talk to, and he’s the dude who had the golden ticket.”

“And you slept with him?” I’m pissed. I’m seriously pissed. As much because they did it as because Ollie lied.

“We didn’t! I swear!” She holds up her fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “But there was a tug, you know?”

I’m relieved. But it’s a cold kind of comfort. “He’s engaged, Jamie. And he’s a mess.”

“As to the first, I know. As to the second, so am I. Maybe we’re soul mates.”

“Friends, yes. Lovers, no.” Just the idea makes me shudder. I can picture the movie of their relationship in my head, and it is definitely not one of Evelyn’s romcoms.

“I know,” she says. “I really do. You’d be proud of me. Nothing happened.”

“Proud of you?” I repeat, hearing what she’s carefully not telling me. That had it just been up to Ollie, something would have happened. That part he left out.

“You’re missing the point,” she says. “I didn’t sleep with Ollie. And I really wanted to because of the commercial and I felt lower than dirt, and, well, you know. But I didn’t—and I thought maybe that meant I was getting my act together.” She sucks in a breath. “And then I go and f*ck an * and wreck Damien’s Ferrari.”

I may have used a blade against my own flesh to cope, but Jamie uses men. From a distance, it looks like my method is the more dangerous, but sometimes I’m not so sure. For years, I’ve seen the way Jamie’s casual f*cks rip her up. Now, I’m afraid I’m seeing a different kind of danger. “The bottom line is that I worry about you.”

“I know you do,” she says simply. “I do, too.”

For a few moments, we’re both silent, and I think that we’re done. Then Jamie draws her knees up and hugs herself. “I’m thinking about going back to Texas.”

My mouth hangs open and I am literally speechless. Of all the things she might have said to me, this was not even on my radar.