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Edward has called me three times this week alone. Each message promises that he has a job lead, but there’s something increasingly unhinged in his voice, in his words, that I find unsettling. “Elle,” he said in the last one, “this is really important. You need to call me right away. I’m not going to let you do this to us.”

The whole thing is bizarre — as bizarre as James’s assertion that I’m too young but at the opposite end of the spectrum. Edward is a grown man with a beautiful wife and a family and all kinds of power, and I’m sure if he wanted to cheat he could find tons of willing young girls to take him up on it. So why me? I know I’m not ugly, but pretty girls are hardly a scarce commodity in NYC. And why is he acting like some love-sick teenager when he’s pushing 50?

Ginny and I get home just as James is getting out of his car, and she’s still carping. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t give that guy your number,” she chides.

“Because I wasn’t into him. Isn’t that reason enough?” I ask.

“How could you not have been into him?” she says. “He was crazy hot.”

This is something I’d really rather not discuss in front of James.

“I just wasn’t,” I sigh. “He made me uncomfortable.”

“Ginny,” says James, his voice a low rumble. “Leave her alone.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “This total hottie was obsessed with her. He looked like Captain America. Admit that much, Elle: he looked like Captain America.”

I shrug. He did actually look like Captain America, so I can’t really argue.

“Anyway, Captain America is following her all over the bar and trying to buy her drinks and he’s a total gentleman. Okay, you’ve got to admit that too, Elle. He was a perfect gentleman. Like you could bring him home and your parents would get a total hard-on for you to wind up with him.”

“That’s a really awkward turn of phrase when you’re discussing my parents,” I sigh.

“Just admit it!” she shouts. I realize, slightly too late, that she’s had significantly more to drink than would be considered advisable for her size and weight.

“Sure, aside from the fact that he was following me and he wouldn’t fucking leave me alone, he was a perfect gentleman,” I reply.

“It’s obvious you’re already seeing someone,” she says in disgust. “I don’t know why you won’t just admit it.”

I feel heat creeping above my neck, stealing into my face. I stare at the ground so that I don’t accidentally – God forbid – make eye contact with James during this rant. “I’m not seeing anyone,” I mumble.

“This is ridiculous!” she hisses, glaring at me. “You know what I hate? Liars.”

“You know what I hate?” I retort, grabbing my purse and heading toward the stairs. “False accusations. And I’m getting pretty sick of yours.”

Chapter 31

On Saturday night Brooks is having a party. I’m closing, so I change in the bathroom at the bar and head over. James is already there when we arrive, and he already has company — Ashleigh. Sitting there with a smug smile on her face, tracing a pattern on his thigh with the nail of her index finger.

The hatred I feel for both of them is an ugly thing. I hate him for choosing her. I hate her for finally getting her way. The sight of them together makes me feel broken inside, unable to keep all my pieces together in any reasonable way. James and I haven’t held a real conversation since the morning after we hooked up, but for some reason I still believed he would come around. And now I’m faced with proof he won’t. Kristy takes one look at my wounded face and puts a beer in one hand and a Jell-O shot in the other.

“Don’t let her bother you,” she says. “Let’s go talk to Brooks’s friends. They’re all hot. Give James a taste of his own medicine.”

With cold-blooded practicality, I choose the best-looking one, the one who, as it turns out, is only a year younger than James. Within minutes he’s getting me drinks, asking about school, and after a few of those drinks, I’m perched on his lap. His name is Justin, he’s in med school, and if the fact that he’s already trying to figure out how many hours apart we’ll be once school begins is any indication, he really, really likes me.

“You know who you look like?” he asks.

I groan a little inside. “That model from the 80s?” I ask.

“No,” he says, looking at me blankly. “The girl from that zombie movie. The one where’s she’s not a zombie and she helps this zombie boy turn human again.” I may have found the only guy alive who hasn’t jerked off to a picture of my mom.

I drape an arm over his shoulder. “You’re my favorite person right now.”

I don’t even know if James is still here. I refuse to look and try not to think about it, though the truth is that no matter what I do, there’s a persistent knot in my stomach that never leaves.

We do more shots, and then I’m back in Justin’s lap. “I really liked that zombie movie,” he says, putting his mouth against my neck.

“I think you’re confusing zombies with vampires,” I laugh.