In Your Corner
Page 67

“Did you f**k him tonight?” His eyes glitter in the shadows and I wince at his harsh words, anger edging into my fear.
“No. Of course not. You’re totally overreacting.”
His hands clench and unclench, and his biceps quiver beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt. For the longest time he just stares at me, jaw clenched, chest heaving. “But you were drinking with him. Alone. Here.”
My stomach twists in knots, and unwanted images flood my mind. Farnsworth’s blue file. My father’s words in the hospital. Jake’s face when he walked in on Drake and me two years ago. But what have I done wrong? Certainly nothing to warrant his accusatory tone. Or his lack of trust. And definitely nothing that would explain the guilt worming a hole through my heart. All that stands between us is a past we cannot shake.
“Maybe you should go, Jake. We can talk about it tomorrow when you’re calm and I’ve got a clear head.”
He startles at my words. I don’t know if he expected tears or anger or excuses, but he’s getting none of them from me. He’s judged me and found me wanting. Even more than when I judge myself.
Without a word, he grabs his backpack and walks out the door.
***
“Well, that was just stupid,” Makayla snaps when I call her in Fiji to tell her it’s over. Although I don’t like to disturb her on vacation, the most desolate moments in a person’s life must be shared with best friends when and as they happen.
“Which part?” I push off my comforter and let the cool breeze blow over my skin, imagining I’m lying on an exotic beach beside her, but it does nothing to ease my discomfort. I ache all over and nothing will make the pain go away.
“All of it. First, inviting Drake over in the evening. Second, drinking alone with Drake. You know what’s he’s like. You saw him with me. He gloms on to you and then he won’t let go until someone hits him over the head with a fire extinguisher. Third, telling Jake he was there.”
“It was pretty obvious. There were two wineglasses and enough food for an army.”
Makayla gives a derisory sniff. “Fourth and worst, you sent him away. I can’t believe you did that. How could you send him away?”
My hand clenches around the phone. “He didn’t trust me. And one day he’s going to find out about the file and realize he was right. I am the person he thinks I am.”
Silence.
“Makayla?” I sit up in the bed. “Makayla?”
“Did you sleep with Drake?”
“No, of course not.”
She sighs. “Then you’re not the person you think he thinks you are. You’re the person who is letting the past define her. You’re letting Farnsworth and his damn file define you. No one cares what happened before. No one cares if you slept with ten guys or fifty. Do you think your friends wouldn’t be your friends if they read that file? Do you think I would love you any less? Do you really think it matters to Jake?”
My throat tightens until I can barely breathe. “But…”
She draws in a ragged breath. “What matters to him is now. He wants to know you’re with him and only him now. He cares about you, Amanda. He cares enough to show up at your office late at night. He cares enough to be upset that you were drinking with your ex and not just an ex, the ex you left him for. He respects you enough to leave when you asked him to go.”
Sick remorse floods my veins. “I should never have asked him to go.”
“Oh, honey. The real issue is that you let him in and now you’re scared.” Her voice softens. “I get that. I felt that with Max. But you have the benefit of knowing what happens if you push him away. You know how it feels and you know this time there will be no second chances. He wants you, Amanda. All of you. The good and the bad. Don’t be afraid this time. Give yourself to him. You know he would never hurt you.”
Chapter 17
YOU’VE NEVER BEEN SPANKED?
Lucky for me, Makayla has no qualms about searching Max’s phone for Jake’s new address, and I have no trouble finding his new apartment in the SOMA district. After following a couple through the security doors, I take the elevator up to the penthouse—a big change from when we were first going out and Jake shared a house with five other guys, assorted pizza boxes, and a cockroach named Fred.
My heart pounds faster and faster, and by the time the elevator doors slide open, my pulse is racing so wildly I can barely breathe. What the hell am I doing? It’s midnight. He doesn’t know I’m here. I could easily turn around and be home in less than an hour, saving myself further heartache. But by the time my mind has decided to leave, my feet are already moving, and suddenly I’m in a long, spacious, red-carpeted hallway, and the elevator door is closing behind me.
The walk to the sole door at the end of the corridor takes forever. I count the trendy spotlights in the ceiling, and admire the abstract red and blue prints on the stark white walls. My steps follow the rhythm of my pounding heart. Tap. Bang. Tap. Bang. By the time I reach Jake’s door, I’m out of breath, shivering like the potted palm in the corner. Mustering what little courage I have left, I knock softly on the door.
Silence.
Maybe I should go.
But before I can turn away, the door swings open.
Chest heaving, fight shorts clinging to his narrow hips, bare torso glistening with sweat, Jake studies me, his face an expressionless mask.
Go big or go home.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I just keep messing everything up.”