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“You were making a fool of yourself in there,” I said, my anger picking the worst words I could have chosen. But I couldn’t do anything now. They were out there.
She jutted her chin out. “Fuck you and your high horse.”
With my control slipping through my fingers, I yanked at my hair. “How could you do that?” I waved toward the reception hall. “You’re drunk, and that guy was all over you. Why would you—”
“Why would I drink and flirt with a man paying me attention? Oh, I don’t know, Jason, because it feels good. Because I like it. Because I can and I want to. Don’t think I’m some damsel in distress because I told you something from my past, and now, you’re a white knight saving me from any random guy. I don’t need that from anyone, including you.”
I didn’t think she needed saving all the time, but that guy didn’t strike me as the most upstanding citizen. Besides, she’d come asmydate. But as usual, it was two steps forward and one step back. Here we were, fighting. Again.
I jammed the heels of my palms against my eyes then shot my arms out to the sides. I was crawling out of my skin. Meanwhile, she stood there, arms crossed, face completely rigid, save for one angry eyebrow.
“You can’t go around doing whatever you want,” I said, grasping at straws.
“So, you can go around kissing any woman you want, but I can’t have a drink with someone?”
“That’s why you got drunk and hung all over him? Because you’re mad at me?” I wanted to punch something—preferably Matt—but more than anything, I wanted to go one goddamn day without having words with Gemma. I curled his fist against the wall, barricading her in. “I’m tired of this tit for tat game.”
She needled her index finger into my chest. “Don’t blame this on me. You kissed her. Right there, in front of everyone.”
“I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.”
“Semantics.” She ducked under my arm.
“Her mom is sick and—”
Scooping up the side of her dress, Gemma kicked off her heels, dropping down two or three inches, but she set her shoulders back, her gaze unrelenting. She aimed straight for my heart. “I didn’t make a fool of myself, Jason.Youmade a fool of me.”
Direct hit.
Then she grabbed her shoes and walked away.
CHAPTERTWENTY
Gem
I woke up, still in my dress, with one leg hanging off the bed and George Clooney asleep next to my head. Groaning, I rolled to the floor. The pounding in my temples recalled the bottle of white and that musty Uber ride home. Not exactly how I’d expected the night to go.
An old-school clock on my nightstand flipped numbers, 10:23, and I wiped my eyes, rubbing makeup off onto the back of my hand. My mother and Frank were leaving on their honeymoon this afternoon, and I needed to get up and shower. But at the moment, everything was a tad blurry.
I grabbed my cell phone from the floor, my home screen flooded with well-wishes and questions about the wedding from the girls, begging for photos. I hadn’t plugged it in to charge last night and the battery life was at four percent, enough to text them a selfie and a short message.
long story.
I let out a pitiful laugh, remember how my hopes for a future with Jason went down the drain, along with my dignity. What a waste of a perfectly beautiful dress.
It was the exact reason why I never planned more than a week in advance. I was a fly-by-night kind of girl, remaining unattached and uninjured. Yet here I was, on the floor of my apartment. Disappointment settled in my bones like cement, keeping me there, as a physical ache bloomed in my chest.
Jason and I were on the cusp of something amazing, and to have it wither in my hands like the brown leaves of a plant that never really had a chance to grow made me want to throw the whole thing in the compost bin. Forget it ever happened.
Fortunately, now that the wedding was over, I could.
The pads of my feet throbbed as I toddled to the shower, where I turned on the cold water. Each drop pricked my skin like a needle, erasing the feeling of Jason’s searing touch. If only I could somehow bleach my brain of the memories. Of the emotion weaving over his features as he gave his toast and then talked about his parents while we danced. Of feeling his heartbeat under my hand against his heart, of the small glimpse I had of his insides.
Then his reaction of me drinking with…Mark? And, of course, Bridget.
I wanted—needed—to forget it all.
When I pulled up into the Santos’s driveway, Mom and Frank were in the midst of loading matching suitcases into a limo. I found sunglasses and, goddamn it, they were the ones Jason had given me—I couldn’t escape him—but put them on anyway to cover the dark circles, before stepping out of my car.
