I laugh. “It suits him.”
“Yeah, it does,” Jet replies with a shrug, not entirely convinced. “But you need to shake things up a bit, dust off the cobwebs, so to speak.”
I immaturely roll my eyes. “Are you sure your family moved to Cali? Or did you just don a skirt and hang out with the senior girls at Ravenshoe High?”
My voice is snarky from memories of Amelia saying something similar to Ryan years ago. What I said to Ryan over a decade ago was true, Amelia was a nice girl, but neither of them saw the bitchy looks her friends gave me when she said her comment loud enough for me to hear. Although peeved, since I had a long way to go to repay the money I believed I owed Axel, I was happy Ryan was moving on.
Somewhat.
Maybe.
That’s a lie.
I was devastated.
He deserved to be happy, but I had always hoped we’d find that happiness together. God—how wrong was I? I just wanted him to wait a few more months. . . Ten years later and I still haven't gotten my shit together. At least this time around I'm not solely to blame for our separation. Ryan instigated it; I’m merely sustaining it.
“Brax. . . really? I never saw that one coming.”
I glance at Jet, confused by the shock in his tone.
"That worried look on your face. That's from Brax?" His facial expression doesn’t reveal if he is asking a question or stating a fact.
“Nothing happened between Brax and me."
Jet breathes out dramatically. “Good, because he always looked at you like a little sister, so that would have been weird—”
“Ryan, on the other hand,” I interrupt, praying he doesn’t say he also saw me as a sibling, as that wouldn’t just be weird, it would destroy every fantasy I’ve ever had.
Jet smiles a blistering grin. “Ah. So you two finally sorted your shit out?”
A grin cracks onto my mouth. "Somewhat. We kind of dated for a few years. . . Then things went sour. Then we dated again. . ." A grimace finishes a truth I don’t want to acknowledge.
“Then things went sour again?” Jet fills in.
I nod. “As sour as you can get.”
Jet shoves my half-packed gym bag onto the counter we’re standing next to before nudging his head for me to sit. When I do, he crouches down in front of me like a coach about to give a pep talk to his star quarterback.
“What happened?” he asks, his tone not intrusive or rude.
I take a moment to consider how to reply in a mature, non-emotional type of way. I shouldn’t have bothered. “Ryan cheated,” I blurt.
Jet falls onto his backside, making me giggle. “Ryan-Take-a-Chance-on-Me-Carter cheated? No fucking way.”
I take a mental note to book an appointment with an optometrist when I roll my eyes for the third time in under five minutes.
"You must have misread what you saw. . . Smoked crack. . . Knocked your fucking head, because there is no way Ryan Carter would cheat. The guy wouldn't even let me glance at his paper when we were taking a spelling test in third grade. Cheating isn't in his vocabulary."
After blowing air out of my mouth so fast my lips wobble, I stand and make my way back to my wardrobe. “I would have believed you if he didn’t reveal his philandering ways himself.”
Jet stares at me, blinking and mute.
“Are you sure that’s what he confessed to?” he asks, handing me a wrapped lollipop, as if sugar is the answer for everything.
I twist off the plastic and pop it into my mouth before nodding. “He said he got sick of waiting so he moved on.”
“He couldn’t have waited to tell you he wanted to move on before moving on? That’s whacked.”
