Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(67)

“I don’t think we’re all about sex.” She looked up, not smiling. But he thought he saw a spark in her eyes.

“Maybe not. But I was afraid you would start to if you knew how f*cked up being around Adele made me. Like witchcraft.”

“Bitchcraft is more like it.” She smirked. “And yes, that’s not fair. I mean, I liked her well enough before. And you’re both consenting adults. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Jane.”

“No, let me finish.” She polished off the rest of her wine. “I don’t—I couldn’t ever—think that what’s between us is only sex. But it is a huge part of it. And I think that’s why it hurts knowing you …”

“And that’s the other reason I didn’t tell you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What? You didn’t want me to know? Figured it could just stay a big secret?”

“I was ashamed,” he said, and felt ten times lighter after the admission.

She tilted her head, her expression softening. “Oh, Dallas. Oh, damn. No. No. What you did—why you did it—there’s nothing to be ashamed of. But just because it’s not shameful doesn’t mean I like it. You know?”

“I do.”

She poured herself a fresh glass and took a swallow. “It’s just that it feels like a secret, after you promised not to keep secrets.”

“It was history, baby. Not a secret. Just an empty place.” That wasn’t entirely true, but he damn sure wanted it to be. “I don’t need an itemized list of who you slept with between Bill and me.”

“But if I’d slept with Liam, you would.”

He felt the kick in his gut. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I would.” He took a step toward her, wanting so badly to touch her, but he kept one hand on his wineglass and the other in his pocket. “So how many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

She shook her head slowly. “I guess we’ll find out.” She set her wineglass down. “The couch pulls out into a sofa, so you can stay here tonight if you want. Or you can go grab a suite at the Beverly Wilshire or something.”

“Room service and comfortable mattresses are highly overrated,” he said. “I’ll stay here.”

“Okay, then.” She licked her lips. “I have work and some errands to run, but I’ll be back later. You can hang or call a taxi or—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. He didn’t believe that she had things to do outside of the house, but he did believe that she needed her space. Even so, he wasn’t about to leave if she wasn’t kicking him out.

“Cool.” She bit her lower lip. “So, there’s not much to eat in the house, but there’s a basket of delivery menus by the microwave. And probably ice cream in the freezer.”

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated.

“Right.” She hesitated, and he had the distinct impression that she had to force herself not to move closer and kiss him goodbye. “I’ll just get going, then.”

She grabbed her purse and keys and moved toward the door.

He knew he should just stay silent, but once she’d opened the door and the reality of her leaving was slapping him in the face, he couldn’t keep quiet. “Jane,” he said, then waited for her to turn. “Are we going to be okay?”

She hesitated, and in those few moments, he felt as though he were dying. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “But I didn’t kick you out of the house. That must count for something.”





Boy Toy

I bounce from shop to shop, spending the day at the Beverly Center and Rodeo Drive and then hitting up all my favorite boutiques around Melrose Place. That doesn’t eat up nearly enough time, however, and so I add a massage and a facial into the mix, then follow that with dinner and a ten o’clock movie. Afterward, I sit in my car and consider calling my film agent to see if she wants to meet for drinks at the Chateau Marmont, but considering it’s already past midnight, I nix that plan.

I consider going by myself, but the thought sobers me. I don’t want to be alone anymore.

The truth is, I want Dallas. I’ve wanted him all day. But I’ve been avoiding him because it feels like that’s what I should be doing.

I should be staying away.

I should be keeping some distance. Evaluating. Figuring things out.

The trouble is, I figured out me and Dallas years ago. And it’s not a question of should, but of how.

I know we should be together—I’ve always known that. What is still tormenting us is the question of how. And that’s a much trickier one.

But I’m pretty damn sure that the answer doesn’t lie in a bar or a mall or a movie theater. And it sure as hell doesn’t lie in running away.

And the truth is, as much as I hate the thought that he slept with Adele of all people, I do understand why he didn’t tell me. I wish that he had, but I understand.

No, if I dig really deep I have to admit that my biggest problem isn’t that he kept a secret, but that I’m jealous. All those other women are anonymous. Even Fiona and Christine are anonymous at the core. Fungible women that aren’t really part of his life.

Adele is, though. Like it or not, she’s right there in both our lives. Maybe not at the center, but she’s sure as hell sitting comfortably on the periphery. Which means I’m going to continue to see her. To be around her. And each and every time I’m going to think about how Dallas touched her. About how she knows the truth about us. About how she played those mind games with him, and put the thought of me right there in bed with the two of them.