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“Wait! Are you trying to seem like a good person?”
“I’m saying it’s complicated.”
“No. It’s very simple.”
Robby seemed to hold his breath for a second. “Because of Taylor?” he demanded, like I was being petty. “That was just an on-assignment thing.”
“Not because of Taylor,” I said. “Because you dumped me.” Then, for good measure, I added, “On the night after my mother’s funeral.”
Robby made a strangled noise as if we’d had this argument a million times. “When are you going to stop fixating on that?”
“Never,” I said. “That’s why we’re never getting back together. The Taylor thing was just another nail in a well-nailed coffin.”
“We were just bored,” Robby pleaded, like I was being unreasonable.
“Is that what Taylor would say?”
“I’m telling you, the person I wanted then—and want now—is you.”
“I’m pretty sure we never really liked each other all that much, anyway.”
I couldn’t believe I was being forced to have this conversation.
Yes, I was lonely. Yes, witnessing Robby and Taylor kissing had shredded me in ways I never knew were possible. But I wasn’t pathetic. “We’re not getting back together, Robby.”
“Why not?”
“Because you disqualified yourself.”
“You’d rather be alone forever than let me make it up to you?”
“Not sure those are my only options.”
“I just want a chance to make things right.”
“But there is no way to make things right. And even if there were, you wouldn’t know how.”
AFTER THE MEETING—AFTERTaylor was dragged back in to sit, catatonic, staring at the floor while Robby snuck resentful looks at me like I was the bad guy, and after Glenn went on another rant about how nobody in this company was allowed to have any sex at all for any reason ever again, and after we talked through all the details and ramifications and policy changes that the viral photo of Jack was going to mean for this assignment, I jogged back to the ranch in a daze, turning one simple, shocking thought over and over in my head.
Robby was right.
Leave it to Robby to suck the fun out of everything.
But he was right.
Liking Jack was a catastrophically bad idea.
I couldn’t believe I’d let it happen.
He was Jack Stapleton.
Letting myself fall for him was emotional suicide.
That’s exactly what I was thinking when I saw the god himself up ahead on the gravel road, walking in my direction.
When he saw me, he shifted into a jog, which gave the distinct impression that he was happy to see me.
So Method.
