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I can’t stand it so I put the TV on and turn the volume up louder. No way in hell am I going to listen to the guy I like have sex with another girl.
I roll onto my side and squish my eyes closed, but I know sleep is never going to come now.
Not when I have a visual in my head playing out what I imagine is happening just outside my door.
It’s going to be a long night.
***
I peel my eyes open and find sunlight filtering into my room.
It’s Saturday, which means no classes but I have to go into work at one.
At least I have most of the day to myself.
I sit up and last night’s events come rearing to the surface of my mind.
I exhale a shaky breath, wishing the hurt I feel would leave as easily as the air in my lungs.
I tumble from my bed and putter around my room, busying myself as I avoid the inevitable.
I make my bed, I straighten the items on my desk, I rearrange my stack of school books.
When there’s nothing left to do, I open my door into the apartment.
Jace is leaning against the counter, looking like a freaking Greek statue—ridiculously handsome and carved to perfection—a coffee cup dangles loosely from his fingertips and he wears a beanie. He looks adorably sleepy and put together all at the same time and I hate the fact that beneath my irritation I still feel attracted to him. My eyes roam over his bare chest—I can’t fucking help it—drifting lower to where his sweatpants sit dangerously low, exposing the V of muscle that disappears into his pants.
“Where’s the girl?” I ask, looking around.
He shrugs.
I roll my eyes and head into the bathroom when it becomes obvious that he’s not going to answer. I can’t blame him since I’m the one that’s been giving him the silent treatment.
I use the bathroom and brush my teeth. When I come out, Jace is cooking breakfast.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a seat on one of the stools.
“I hope you had a nice night,” I find myself saying. I don’t know why I can’t seem to shut up. I haven’t really spoken to him in the last two weeks, just a muttered, “Hey” here and there.
Jace turns away from the stove and pads over to me, leaning across the stainless-steel counter. He’s large and commanding, and I feel like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room.
“Two weeks,” he begins. “Two weeks of nothing from you and then you think I fucked a girl and suddenly you’ll speak to me again.” He smirks that stupid fucking smirk that I hate to love. The one that quirks up on one corner and makes his green eyes shine. He bends down so he’s closer to my height. “Confession …” he pauses, licking his lips and he seems to be thinking over what he wants to say. “She didn’t taste as good as you.”
I feel a nail pierce my heart, hammered in by his words.
He winces. “Fuck,” he breathes. “That didn’t feel as good as I thought it would.”
“What?” I snap, standing. “Hurting me hurts you? Newsflash, that’s what happens when you care about someone.” I storm around the counter toward him and he swivels to face me, towering above me. I can feel tears flooding my eyes and I dam them back. I’ve cried enough over him. We’re not together, we never were, so it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.
“This is making me fucking crazy,” he snaps suddenly, startling me. He rips off his beanie and tosses it away. “I don’t know why I said that to you. It was a lie. I didn’t go down on her and I didn’t fuck her. I brought a girl back here to make you jealous. I wanted you to hear her, that’s it. Nothing else happened.”
My lower lip trembles. “I don’t believe you.”
He steps closer to me, lowering his head. “Yes, you do.”
“Don’t do that,” I snap.
“Do what?” he asks with a knowing smile.
