Page 38 of The Wrong Guy
How dare he? He treated me like an interchangeable hole to fuck, not using my name, leaving as soon as we were done, and going straight to another woman. I felt—no, I still feel—like I was simultaneously too much and not enough. And now I find out that he’s actively told people that I’m his, like I’m a thing he can put up on a shelf for later, when and if he decides he wants me.
Furious, I let loose. “Love me? Do you even know what that means?” I snort derisively.
“More,” he demands, waving his hands in a gimme motion before resting them back on his thighs. “More.” He’s snarling like I’m the one hurting him.
“This is not love.” I point from him to me. His lips twitch, not a smile but something bordering on it, and I reach a new level of rage that completely breaks down every filter I possess. “You called her baby barely thirty minutes after fucking me!” I scream, my voice cracking with emotion.
“What?” he asks, suddenly sounding stunned. “Who?”
His confusion only makes it worse. Laughing bitterly, I ask, “It happened so many times, you don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you? Let me refresh your memory. Her name was Raelynn. Or at least the one I know about, but it sounds like there were more.” I narrow my eyes accusingly, though I admit, “That’s my bad. I knew who you were, I knew what we were, but to have it thrown in my face fucking hurt.”
“I have no clue who this Raelynn chick is, but you’re right about one thing. Who I am and who you are.” He acts like that makes sense, but it doesn’t. At all.
“Want me to remind you? That last night, after we—” I can’t say it, but he knows what I mean. “I asked if you wanted to get dinner again, and you went to play pool with the guys again, so I followed you. I know it’s stupid and childish, but I did. I saw you flirting with her, saw you two hug, and I heard her in the bathroom.” I throw my voice high, mimicking what I heard that night but adding my own sarcastic bend. “He’s so hot! He told me, ‘Good shot, baby!’ and I nearly spontaneously orgasmed right there. Oh, Jesse!” In my own voice, I spit out, “Fucking asshole.”
I flip around, sitting on my ass again with my legs askew, and feeling spent. I don’t do this much emotion in one fell swoop. I’m about control, planning, and cerebral endeavors. I was raised to smile while the world burned, never showing reactions. Certainly never this. Not violent, emotional dumping.
But here we are.
Jesse doesn’t move other than closing his eyes. In the moonlight, I can see the set of his jaw and the shallow rise and fall of his chest. And then his head dips. For a moment, I think it’s all sinking in for him as he remembers what I’m talking about.
Until he starts laughing mirthlessly.
His deep chuckles echo across the creek, disturbing the birds who’ve already bedded down in their nests for the night. They screech back, and Jesse looks up, and though I can see the brightness of his white teeth, it’s more of a snarl than a smile as he shakes his head. He runs his fingers through his hair and says, “You’re jealous? You? You’re jealous.” He sounds incredulous at the very idea, which, for the record, is completely reasonable even if we weren’t exclusive. Nobody wants to feel interchangeable or unvalued, and that’s exactly how I felt. A few more chuckles boom out, but these sound choked, almost emotional, and he looks up to the sky. “Fucking hell.”
“Are you laughing at me?” I snap.
“No, I swear I’m not. It’s just ... you, Wren Ford, are jealous, over some girl I can’t even remember. That’s hilarious,” he manages to get out around his bitter laughs.
“Why?” I slam my arms crossed over my chest and glare at him. I probably look like a pouting child, but I can’t find the emotional space to care.
Jesse leans forward, putting his hands on the blanket so he can get right in my face. Nose to nose, breath mingling, he speaks slowly and clearly, “Because I have been in love with you for so long that I haven’t so much as looked at another woman since well before the first time we fucked.”
I make a noise, beginning my next argument, but he’s succeeded in blanking my entire brain of any actual thought or words, a feat I didn’t think possible given that I typically have entire monologues running in the background of my mind.
“You ... what?” That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. I need him to explain what he said again because that makes zero sense to me.
His lips land on mine, soft and sure, and in total shock, I freeze like a deer in headlights—eyes open, mouth open, and breath held. I’m trying to jump-start my brain to decide how I feel about this and analyze what’s happening, but after the smallest, quickest taste, he pulls back and murmurs, “Not yet.”
It seems like he’s talking to himself, not me. But the kiss makes me pliable, and curious.
He sits down in front of me, pulling my V’d legs over his outstretched ones, until we’re so close that one tug of a zipper and a little lift could have me impaled on him. Not that I’m thinking about that. Nope, not a bit, not remembering how he always stretched me and filled me just right and it’s been so long since I’ve had that. Not thinking about that at all, because there might not be much physical space between us after he gets us arranged the way he wants, but there’s an entire emotional void filled with hurt, pain, and I’m beginning to think a lot of misunderstanding.
“The last time we fucked, let me tell you what I remember,” he starts, and though I’m not sure I want to hear this, I don’t stop him. “That was around the time Alan and Meredith were going through it and we were damn near life-boating him home every day after work. She was gone a couple of nights a week, and Alan would’ve been alone. We didn’t trust him not to drink himself stupid, so when she was gone, we rallied for him. That night, when I told you I couldn’t get dinner because I was meeting the guys for pool? It was for Alan.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I believe him. There’s pain and history in his words, an entire story I don’t know. “Are Alan and Meredith okay?” I ask gently.
I can feel his relief when he smiles widely. “Yeah, they’re great. Meredith’s healthy now, so they’re using Alan’s medical insurance for something much better—their baby.”
“That’s awesome. I’m happy for them.” I truly am, and if what Jesse’s saying is the truth, all those declined dinner invitations that I threaded through with so much meaning actually meant something else entirely. That Jesse is a good friend. “You weren’t telling me no because you didn’t want to be seen with me?”
It’s a dangerous question, entirely too revealing of my insecurities and fears, but Jesse laughs like I’m teasing him.
“Woman, you could ride me down the middle of Main Street like your damn pony if that’s what you wanted. I would be proud to be seen with you if you could get off your high horse for a fucking minute.”
Anger rises instantly at being called “snobby” in a roundabout way, but something else he said comes back to me. At the moment, I’d gotten stuck on the “love” thing he said, but there was more. Pointing back and forth between us and figuring it out as I go, I say, “You think ... that I think ... that I’m better than you? You said I was slumming it with you, but I don’t think that at all.”
“How could you not? You’re Wren Ford, and I’m ... this.” He throws his hands out like I’m supposed to see something that I’m entirely blind to.