Page 39 of A Song for You

Men.

Hell, women too.

When will these girls realize that the only women these James men will ever take seriously are the ones who don’t fall over themselves to be with them? There’s no way they’ll settle for anything less than women who put them in their place. Someone with a little backbone.

“I’ll also take an Irish coffee,” he adds.

She disappears with a smile. There’s no way she won’t return with her number on a napkin. So predictable.

“As for my roommate,” he adds, giving me a pointed look.

My stomach plummets in response to his scrutiny. Does he know about Jay and me? Is there a Jay and me? Maybe there was for about half a second, but not anymore.

“He isn’t anymore.”

“Huh?” I ask, sure I misunderstood while I was having a mini freak-out.

“What do you mean?” Cash asks.

Carter ogles the waitress as she sets each of our drinks in front of us, leaning over a bit more than necessary. “He has to be in Boston, so he moved out. His stuff is still there and he’s still paying rent, but I have the place to myself. It’s not terrible,” he says with a cocked brow, his attention fixed on the waitress’s ass as she walks away.

I nudge him in the arm. “Gross.”

He laughs.

“Cool, so Frank and I can stay there next weekend?” Cash asks, already scheming.

Carter nods. “Yeah, he won’t mind. I’ll text him to check, but he hasn’t been back in weeks.”

The conversation shifts to the kind of trouble the guys are getting up to at school, but I tune out, my mind spinning. He hasn’t stayed in Providence in weeks? But he takes the train to Boston with me every day. From Providence. Where I assumed he lived. Where he did live. Where he doesn’t live?

If he’s staying in Boston, why is he taking the train?

Twenty-Three

Jay

Fix You by Coldplay

“Where is she?” I say when I stalk into the coffee shop on Sunday morning. I swear to Christ if she isn’t here…

“Who?” Mia asks like an idiot. She twirls her hair around her finger and everything, feigning a clueless expression but knowing precisely what she’s doing.

“Mia, today is not the day.”

I have bags under my eyes, I’m wearing jeans, which is rare as shit, and I’m running on limited sleep. My father forced me to endure hours of discussions about what I need to do this week to ensure the last few steps of his plan succeed.

“So testy this morning,” she teases. “Is someone missing his play toy?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep myself from shouting at her in the middle of my café. Maybe I will sell this place after all.

“Mia,” I warn.

She lifts her chin, eyeing me defiantly. “You’re not good enough for her. And I told you how I felt about her. How could you?”

I scrub my hands through my hair. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You haven’t been pursuing her, despite knowing how I feel?” she asks in a softer voice, her expression almost vulnerable and so unlike the feisty woman who struts around like she doesn’t have a care in the world.