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“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” I laugh and go on and on about my experience and how I’ve trained to make this shit happen. I’d rather talk about this and make myself sound like a complete piece of shit than have to admit to Noah what’s going on here.
I don’t know if he’ll be pissed. And I have no fucking idea how I’m going to play it the day of the wedding, when Noah is actually here. But until then, I’m keeping it cool. I know I should tell him, but I don’t want him to ask me to stop seeing her. Because I won’t.
When we finally end the call, I never answered his question, and I feel like shit that I’m lying to him. Not telling him the truth is the same as making up some other shit, and I’m a piss-poor friend if this is how I play the game.
But Noah fucking had her. And I let him have her, let him go after her and woo her and date her, even though I’d crushed on her long, long before Noah ever had. When I’d found out he liked her, I’d let him take her out, and one thing led to another, and I’ve resented the son of a bitch ever since.
Now, she’s single. And mine. Am I an asshole? Yeah. Am I selfish? You bet. But I’m also in love, and I’m not letting her slip through my fingers this time. It’s a decade later, and Noah never went back to her, never went to find her again.
I don’t know if the bro code expires, but there has to be some clause about Jenna being fair game somewhere in the unwritten rules about how to treat your friends.
I stop at the hotel where I’m spending all my time these days and climb out. I like staying here—it’s like a little vacation when I’m still right here at home. But since I spent time with Jenna at the beach, I want to go back home and sleep in my own bed.
I just don’t want to do it alone. I want to have her by my side. I want Jenna to come with me, so that we can spend some more alone time, together. I liked having her in my home, and I want that again.
More permanently, if I have to be honest, but that’s not something I can think about right now.
