Maybe Now (Maybe #2)(19)

It’s not a good feeling, knowing someone has convinced themselves they’re more in love with you than they are simply because you’re dependent on them. I’d rather feel melancholic than pathetic.

I grab the pillow Jake slept on—the same pillow I was just rubbing in longing—and I throw it off my bed. I’ll throw it in the trash later. I don’t even want to smell him again.

I walk over to my dresser and grab my bucket list. I mark out number eight and then look over the list again. I suddenly feel accomplished, knowing number eight was probably the one thing on my bucket list I was certain I would never have the guts to do.

Maggie Fucking Carson. You are a badass.

I fold the list and set it on top of my dresser. I open the second drawer, then grab a pair of panties and a tank top and pull them on. I need to go visit my grandfather today while I have the opportunity, but first I need waffles and a shower.

Waffles before shower. I’m way too excited for waffles after not being able to eat much last night.

I might even go get a manicure today. I’m staring down at my nails when I walk into my living room. But then I freeze when I smell bacon. I slowly raise my head to find Jake standing at my kitchen stove.

Cooking.

He spins around to reach for a plate and sees me. He grins. “Morning.”

I don’t smile. I don’t speak. I don’t even nod a greeting in return. I stand there and stare at him and wonder how a twenty-nine-year-old man could honestly not understand the meaning behind one-night stand. Night being the key word. There’s not supposed to be a morning included in that definition.

I look at my tank top and underwear and suddenly feel modest, even though he spent enough time on top of me last night that he probably has every inch of my body memorized. But still, I wrap my arms around myself.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Jake is watching me, a little unsure of himself after seeing my reaction to him still being here. He looks at the stove and then at me, and I swear he deflates right in front of me.

“Oh,” he says, suddenly seeming out of place. “You thought… Okay.” He starts nodding and immediately reaches to the stove and turns off the burner. “My bad,” he says, not looking at me. He grabs a glass that’s next to the stove and takes a quick drink. When he faces me again, he can’t even look at me. “This is awkward. I’ll go. I just…” He finally makes eye contact with me. I wrap my arms around myself even tighter because I hate that I’ve created such an awkward moment when he was obviously trying to do something nice.

“I’m sorry I made this awkward,” I say. “I just wasn’t expecting you to still be here.”

Jake nods, walking toward me to grab the shoes he kicked off next to the couch last night. “It’s fine. I misread things, obviously. I know you made yourself clear last night. But that was before we…twice…and it was…”

I press my lips together.

His shoes are now on his feet, and he stands, eyeing me. “Wishful thinking, I guess.” He points at my front door. “I’m gonna leave now.”

I nod. It’s probably for the best. I just ruined every good thing about last night.

Actually, he ruined every good thing about last night. I walked into my living room accepting that I’d never see him again, and he ruined it by assuming I wanted him to stay and cook me breakfast.

He reaches for the front door, but before he opens it, he pauses. When he turns around, he stares at me for a moment, then walks back over to me. He stops about two feet away and tilts his head. “Are you positive you don’t want to see me again? There’s no wiggle room for me to convince you to give this one more shot?”

I sigh. “I’ll be dead in a few years, Jake.”

He takes half a step back, but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Wow.” He brings a hand to his mouth and runs it over his jaw. “You’re really using that one?”

“It’s not an excuse. It’s a fact.”

“A fact I’m very aware of,” he says. His jaw is hard, and now he’s mad. See? If he would have just left before I woke up, this would have ended perfectly! Now, when he leaves, we’re both going to be frustrated and full of regret.

I take a step forward. “I’m dying, Jake. Dying. What’s going to come of this? I don’t ever want to get married. I don’t want children. I have no desire for another relationship where I’ll eventually become someone’s burden. Yes, I like you. Yes, last night was incredible. And that’s exactly why you should have left already. Because I have things I want to do, and falling in love and fighting with someone about how I live the last few years of my life is not something that’s ever been on my bucket list. So, thank you for last night. And thank you for attempting to cook me breakfast. But I need you to leave.”

I blow out a frustrated breath and then immediately look at the floor because I hate the look in his eyes right now. Several seconds pass and he doesn’t respond. He stands there and soaks in everything I said. He eventually takes a step back, and then another. I look up and he looks away, turning toward the front door. He opens it and steps outside, but before he closes it, he looks straight at me.

“For the record, Maggie. I was just making you breakfast. I wasn’t proposing.”

He shuts the door, and my house has never felt emptier than it does in this moment.