How to Fail at Flirting(68)

My fingernails dug into my palms, and my lips pressed together.

“Can we please just talk about this?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“We are talking.”

“Calmly?” He paused for a beat. “This is my job, Nay.”

The slate gray walls of my living room were closing in. Jake inhaled deeply, and the crease between his eyes deepened. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“This is everything I’ve worked for. We’re talking about my livelihood and my passion.” I sounded frail and chastised myself, but I wanted to fight. The old me would have stayed quiet, but I’d spent too many years with my fists tucked away, and I wouldn’t be left defenseless again. “I’m sorry if I’m being too uppity for you, but you can’t just drop this and expect me to roll with it.”

His chest heaved, eyes flashing. “You’re acting like I . . . I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger between his eyebrows, trying to take control of his own emotions. “Like you thought we would just ignore real problems.” His calm demeanor began to crack, an edge bleeding into his voice.

My heart thrummed in my chest, and tears stung the backs of my eyes. He’s right.

I’d been trying to engage Joe and others in conversation about our shortcomings to no avail, but hearing Jake say it was like an elbow to my solar plexus. I swallowed hard and blinked.

“Can’t you put the smallest amount of trust in me to not screw you over?” His eyes caught something on my face and softened. He reached for my hand, but I shrugged away.

“You just told me you were going to screw me over.”

Jake groaned and scrubbed his palms over his face, frustration etched in every muscle. “Why are you being so unreasonable? I’m not screwing you over. That’s not what I said at all. I wanted you to know the way the wind was blowing. Can you please just listen?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” What upset me was knowing the person I wanted most to think I had it all together was witnessing and identifying all the cracks, and he didn’t understand why that was such a big deal. I’d never seen him angry, and seeing his neck redden and his features harden brought back old fears.

“Talk to you like what?” His voice was edgy, notes of frustration lacing each word.

I walked toward my bedroom, ignoring his question.

“Dammit, talk to you like what?” He repeated his question and tried to tug me back to face him.

“Like a condescending asshole.” I shrugged away from his touch, shuddering at how much Jake tugging me made me think of Davis.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, linking both hands behind his neck, his biceps tensing. “I’m not being condescending; I’m just trying to give you information.”

“Telling me I don’t understand condescension is condescending.”

“Nay, I know what you do is valuable. I tell you all the time how much your work impresses me, how important I think it is.”

I swallowed back tears, because he did say that often. I thought back to brunch with his friends and how he’d told Tyson and Eric about my research, but I wondered if he’d really been listening when I talked about my career and what it meant or if he’d just been appeasing me.

He hung his head at my icy stare, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering, “This is not how I wanted this conversation to go.”

I balled my hands at my sides. “I’m sorry I didn’t follow your script, but I get upset when someone I’m fucking tells me what I do is worthless.”

At my statement he stiffened. “I didn’t ever tell you that. And I’m just”—he motioned between us—“someone you’re fucking?”

A stony silence hung between us.

You’re so much more than that. My body tensed, but a part of me wanted him to feel as unsteady as I did . . . and I didn’t answer.

Hurt flashed across his face before he adjusted his expression to something resolute. “You know that’s not true.” He stepped forward, and I backed against my doorframe. “And this guy who hurt you, who messed with your head? I’m so sorry—so angry—you had to deal with that, but I would never hurt you. Never. How do I get you to realize that I’m not like him?”

“I know you’re not like him.” Jake was so far from Davis, they were barely the same species, and yet, I couldn’t stop holding my metaphorical fists up to protect myself from the next blow, because, for the first time, Jake was angry and pointing out the things in my life that were wrong. “I know you’re not like him,” I repeated, as much to myself as to him.

“Then why are you acting like this news is aimed at you? I know it’s not good news, but it’s not personal, Naya. I get it feels personal, but you have to see it isn’t.”

I understood everything he was saying, and I wanted to agree, to sit down rationally and talk through what was coming, but every time my mind leaned in that direction, I remembered my lowest points with my ex. I was so far into the hole I’d dug, I couldn’t see a way out. That helplessness was the sensation crawling over me as I stood in front of Jake, tears threatening to fall. I wanted to sweep it away, but the memory of that darkness surrounded me.

And it always will. That’s the real problem.