Page 61 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Real stop or exasperated, Don’t stop but maybe behave a little better next time stop?”

My chuckle is a mixture of amusement and helplessness. This man. And his stupid dimple and dumb charisma. “Maybe the latter.”

I’m turned toward him, half smiling, as we pull into the diner, driving past the storefront to the back lot. I blame the fact that my body has been prioritizing copulating over cogitating, that I’ve not only allowed myself to be love-bombed, but have welcomed the way Brody’s allowed me to relax, to trust him with… everything. Because why else would it take me so long to recognize we aren’t alone? It’s not just that there’s another car—highly unusual, given the diner’s closed on Sundays—but that it’s Jesse’s old BMW, the one his parents bought him when he got into medical school.

My brain is slowly processing the shiny gray vehicle, which means precious seconds pass before I recognize that Jesse Williams is also, of course, there. He’s standing next to his car, arms crossed, expression grim.

Brody parks, and because my mind is still whirling with how I’m going to approach my ex, I’ve yet to exit the vehicle before Brody reaches for the door, helping me out, whispering urgently to me when he sees my white lips.

His hand on my back provides a warm, steadying pressure, one that I would lean into if it weren’t for the fact that Jesse’s gaze has narrowed to that exact point of contact. My ex’s entire body is rigid as he half shouts, teeth gritted, “What the fuck is going on here?”

18

GOING TO BE AWKWARD

Iswallow, pulling the wrap Brody bought for me at the gift store around me, even though it’s not cold. Quite the opposite, it’s a warm and balmy early evening in July. It’s a perfect seventy-something with a light breeze. The chill comes from me, not the weather.

“Jesse—”

Brody’s hand, still on my back, twitches before he moves a little closer to me, something Jesse observes with narrowed eyes.

“Dad?” Sebastian is groggy but quickly disentangles himself from the blankets and gift bags we’ve collected. He rushes out of the car to fling himself at his father.

Jesse gives Sebastian a fierce hug before pulling our son to his side. His eyes remain on me as Sebastian begins babbling. “There is so much I’ve got to tell you, like you would not believe the week I’ve had.” Sebastian’s voice is higher than usual as he begins to tell his dad about the chess tutor, how his chess has improved greatly. He isn’t looking directly at his father, but is gesturing excitedly, not realizing that Jesse is still glaring at me.

Brody turns to me, his tone deliberately mock playful, his eyebrow arched and voice pitched low in a way that suggests he’s speaking just to me, that this is a private moment, despite the fact that my ex-husband and son are right there. “Why does this guy get to say fuck?”

Unlike Brody, who apparently has an excellent poker face (a skill likely developed from years of arguing cases in court), Jesse’s mouth, eyes, and really his entire face hardens as he seems to realize that his son and ex have spent a night away . . . with another man. He’s wearing scrubs, which is weird, considering he works in Newport Beach, meaning at least a two-hour drive. I wonder how long he’s been here and also . . . how he found me.

But I’m not going to ask. I’m not a teenager, missing curfew; I’ve done nothing wrong.

I lift my chin, feeling three pairs of eyes fixated on me. “We should go back to the house, if you want to talk.”

Jesse, likely because he has known me for well over a decade, answers my unspoken question. “You’re still sharing location. I’m your secondary emergency contact, just as you remain mine.”

The way my ex says that last word is possessive, inappropriate, and terribly misleading.

The location sharing was a negotiated item. Arthur, acting as father and father-in-law, lawyer, and mediator, had walked us through an exhaustive laundry list of agreements that (in his experience) would make co-parenting more convenient. When Jesse began dating Mackenzie, there was a time when I checked obsessively, telling Maggie all about how he went to Disneyland without our son, that he canceled his plans with Seba to go to Oxnard one day. It was when he flew to NYC without telling me that I finally convinced myself to stop checking. Because that was the honeymoon we’d talked about, the Broadway shows I’d followed, once upon a time. More than that, I began resenting that he was having all these adventures while I worked at the diner and took care of Sebastian, watching my world shrink and contract in on itself.

It hasn’t occurred to me, for years really, that Jesse might check where I was.

After all, before this weekend, besides a few weeks of university classes and Tyler 2.0, I never really left Lake Arrowhead.

Sebastian slumps a little, the easy smile fading off his face. “Is this going to be awkward now?”

“No, honey,” I start.

Even as Brody says, “Nah,” in an equally unconvincing tone.

I feel awful for Seba, who didn’t ask for his weekend to end this way. But all Jesse does is shove his hands into his pockets, rocking back a little on his heels in an old, familiar gesture.

I chew on my bottom lip. “I should introduce you⁠—”

“You must be Jesse Jeffrey Williams.” Brody’s hand still does not leave my back. He holds out his other hand, forcing Jesse to come forward. It’s a childish gesture, and I try to suppress the spurt of annoyance, that Brody’s making what’s already going to be an awkward conversation less palatable.

It feels . . . out of character. Brody’s persona is impulsive, gregarious, and loud, but he isn’t usually actively immature or rude.

Jesse comes forward slowly, and I can tell that Brody grips my ex’s hand definitely tighter than necessary. Sebastian clearly also notices.