How to Fail at Flirting(37)

Oh, and Davis is back and who knows what he’s planning to do.

It was after noon when I fell onto my couch with an exasperated sigh and stared at my ceiling. I’d woken up feeling like I had things in my grasp, and after learning Jake was married, I was questioning everything again. My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it. Jake had texted a few times that morning, but I hadn’t replied, and I considered not responding to any future messages. I looked at my phone again, though. Ignoring it was what old Naya would do, so I thought about the list and mentally added Demand answers. This time, I opened his message.

    Jake: I wish you were here. Want to crash the bridal party photos?

Naya: How could you not tell me you’re married?



The dots indicating he was typing moved and then stopped, started again and then disappeared. I waited an entire two minutes, which felt like an eternity, watching the dots bounce and disappear.

    Jake: I’m sorry. Will you let me explain?

Naya: Why should I?

Jake: You probably shouldn’t, but will you give me a chance anyway?



I’d risen to my feet, pacing as I thought of a response. I didn’t want to let him explain. I’d made promises to myself about not putting up with liars, about cutting manipulators out of my life. I hadn’t expected Jake to fall into either of those categories, but it looked like he might fall into both.

    Jake: You don’t have to forgive me. I just want to apologize in person for hurting you.



I bit my lower lip, resolve chipping away.





Twenty-one





I opened the door to Jake in his tux. His jaw was smooth, though his expression was frantic.

“I’m sorry.” The words spilled out and brought my attention back to the moment. “I’m married. But only legally. We’ve been separated for over a year, I swear.”

I avoided eye contact with him, glancing at my feet instead. It wasn’t fine. I stepped aside to let him in—seeing him in person was probably a mistake, because my body still reacted to him as if nothing had changed. “I overheard you talking in the hall this morning.”

“Shit.” He reached for my hand, his fingers grazing my wrist, and I recoiled. His shoulders slumped a little, his eyes wide. “Ten minutes. Please, let me at least explain.”

I didn’t want to care about his explanation, but I couldn’t shake how he’d made me feel the last few days. “Fine. Ten minutes,” I said with a tilt of my head, inviting him in.

Pushover.

I searched for similarities to Davis, scrutinizing the cut of his jaw and the shift of his eyes as he spoke, looking for tells that he was lying, looking for evidence he wasn’t worth it.

“We were married for six years, and then I found out she was having an affair with our neighbor.” Jake glanced away. “Her family . . . her parents are like the Cleavers and really conservative. She begged me to keep the real reason for our split from them. I didn’t do it for her, but they would have been hurt by the truth, mortified, and I didn’t want to do that to them. They’d become my family, too.” His voice dipped low, and I thought I saw a flash of something across his face. Bitterness? Anger? Loss?

“So you let them think it was you? They must hate you.”

He nodded with a sigh. “I’m not very popular with them, but I could never do something to drive a wedge between her and her parents.” He ran his fingers through his hair, puffing out a large breath.

His words spilled out, one on top of the other. “The divorce is almost final. I was as close with her brother as with my own sisters, and even though Gretchen and I separated, he still wanted me to be in his wedding. It was probably a bad idea.”

“You’re in your ex-wife’s brother’s wedding? Sounds . . . It sounds a little hard to believe. You didn’t even tell me you’d been married.” My voice was small, smaller than I wanted it to be because rage and shame tangled in my chest.

He rubbed his palms to his eyes. “Ugh, yes.” He shook his head. “It sounds like a lie, but it’s true. I swear. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He spoke fast, his expression pinched and his brow wrinkling. “I should have. I just . . . We met at a bar. I didn’t want to be that guy, the guy with baggage. I didn’t think it mattered. It was only a drink, then just one night, and now . . .”

We sat in silence for a minute or two, and I thought about baggage.

He nudged my foot with his. “Are you kicking me out?”

“Not yet.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “It’s not like we’re . . . I mean it’s just a few days.”

He took my hands in his, and I dared a glance at his face. He was staring at me again. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“I thought about you all day, too. I mean, I was furious, but still . . .”

He didn’t respond immediately, and we sat in silence. “Sounds fair.” His long fingers stroked up my back, rubbing the nape of my neck. “Are you still furious?”

“I’m breaking so many rules with you. I want to be furious.”

He nodded, the hint of a smile curving on his lips. “But . . . ?”

“I have no reason to believe you . . . except that I do.” I wasn’t sure if I was a pushover destined to be lied to or if he was special. Maybe both.