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“To be fired or to lose Jacob?”
And there it was. The real reason I’d text him an unholy amount of times and got crazier by the minute. The thought of losing Jacob was enough to burst past my defenses and send tears streaming down my face.
Before I met him, I thought I was living. Happy. And I suppose I was. But when he said those three words, it was like unlocking hidden and unknown parts of me. Losing that and losing him was like my heart was being carved out of my chest. I’d give back the job, the check with entirely too many zeroes, the clothes and I’d never wanted the fame at all. I just wanted the man.
I just wanted Jacob.
“I’m sure he just needs some time, Lay.”
“He’s Jacob freaking Whitmore,” I spat. “A guy like that falling for me in the first place was so out of the realm of possibility. And then I went and ruined it.”
“And you’re Leila freaking Montgomery,” she said firmly. “You’re no consolation prize.”
I bit my lip, swiping away a tear. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she confirmed, moving from the office chair and squeezing onto the mattress beside me. “Any guy, Jacob Whitmore included, would be lucky to have you.”
‘But after what I did--”
“You’re human and you made a mistake,” she interrupted. “You didn’t kiss him or anything, right?”
I shook my head, though the angle of the pictures could tell another story. “But Jacob has been hurt in the past, trusting people is really hard from him and I want him to know he can count on me.”
“How many texts did you send him?”
“Just a couple.” Liar. “Like...maybe fifteen or twenty.” Ish.
Megan whistled. “And I’m sure somewhere in there you told him how sorry you were?”
“Among other things.” Like how unfair he was being by not answering me then apologizing for calling him unfair. Demanding he text me back, then apologizing again. Definitely not my finest hour.
“Just give him a day or two,” she suggested. “Your crazy texts aren’t helping him and they obviously aren’t helping you either.”
“So I should just wait.”
“Mmhm.”
“Camp out here and give him space?”
“Not here,” she said quickly. She shot up, suddenly remembering she had actual contact with something in the room. “I feel like I need a tetanus shot and a round of antibiotics just because I’ve been breathing the air.”
She wouldn’t get any argument from me. Still, I wasn’t excited about facing my mother. “So just bite the bullet and go home.”
“You’re forgetting Option C.” She pointed her thumb at herself.
“Stay with you?” My eyes widened.
I’d been to Megan’s studio dozens of times and still managed to be amazed at what she could do with five hundred square feet.
“The couch is relatively comfortable,” she answered brightly. “And it’s yours as long as you need it.”
I didn’t know what to say. Remorse sullied the happiness as I looked at her and didn’t see a trace of resentment or pause at my abrupt departure and lack of contact. “I’m sorry that I didn’t call you while I was out of the country.”
“Water under the bridge,” she replied, putting it to rest. “I know you were otherwise occupied. And in Italy.” She twisted her mouth into a smirk. “Seriously, if you would have been glued to the phone while you were in Italy, I would have had to fly in and smack you for being crazy.”
“But we’re best friends,” I said, not letting myself off the hook. “Sisters before Misters.”
Megan let out a snort/laugh combo and when it became full on laughter, I tried and failed to not laugh myself.
