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“Crappy,” she says. “But I think it’s all out of my system.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’ve had my one fling, and it’s behind me.” I’d like to remind her that it’s not actually her first, but I don’t.
“So you’re not breaking up with Alex?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “I can’t. He’d be devastated.” It’s not really the moment for a lecture, so I keep my thoughts to myself. But I imagine he’d be more devastated by a wife who he stopped making happy in high school.
**
The cop from Wednesday calls around lunchtime. “So I spoke to counsel,” he says haltingly. “They don’t see grounds for a restraining order.”
“Really?” I ask in surprise. I’m relieved, but in another way it doesn’t make much sense. “I thought you said you were sure it warranted one? You even thought there’d be an investigation.”
James’s eyes narrow when he hears that last bit.
“You can’t be more surprised than I am,” the cop says. “You didn’t hear it from me, but my guess is that Edward Ferris managed to put a stop to it.” James sees my face fall, and holds his hand out for the phone.
I sigh. “My boyfriend wants to talk to you,” I say, and James’s mouth quirks up a little at that, as does mine.
I hand him the phone, and he proceeds to argue vehemently against the decision, though it’s clearly out of the cop’s hands.
“This is complete bullshit,” he says to me after he hangs up.
“I know,” I sigh. “But James, I’m kind of okay with it. I really don’t think Edward’s going to hurt me, and if this got out my name would be everywhere again, only worse. Edward would have his publicist out telling everyone who will listen that I’m some attention-seeking slut.”
“Yes, but you have the messages he left you,” James argues. “People find out what he said and he’d never come back from it.”
“I don’t want people to know what he said,” I plead. “It would follow me for the rest of my life. It would be this thing … like my mom’s poster, but far worse. Something nasty associated with my name from now on.”
That, for me, is far worse than anything Edward could ever do to me. But I can tell, watching his face, that James does not agree.
**
We both manage to get released from our shifts early. I slide toward him the second we’re in the car and he lifts me right into his lap. We sit there, making out, parallel parked on a busy street, like teenagers. Well, I suppose one of us still is, technically.
He groans and pulls away. “Let me drive home before I get us arrested. I’m pretty sure an indecent exposure charge won’t really look so good for you on the cover of a magazine.”
“Good point,” I sigh, returning to my seat.
“But tonight I want you to stay with me,” he says.
“I always stay with you,” I reply.
“No, I mean all night. I don’t want you sneaking off and I don’t want to wake up and not find you there. And I want to repeat last night about five times, too.”
I laugh. “Five times?”
“What?” he asks. “You don’t think I could?”
“No,” I reply, and my breathing begins to change just thinking about it. “I’m sure you could.”
His hand roams, and is inside my cut-offs by the time we hit our street. “Jesus,” he groans. “You’re already wet.”
The words “keep driving” rest on my lips as we pull up to the house, and they remain there, because we are both rendered speechless by what we see before us.
Our driveway is full of people. People who appear to be moving in, based on the amount of stuff they’re unloading. We can’t even park because two extra cars sit there already, with a few guys pulling stuff from the trunk. And Max helping.
