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“Beating your meat to a pulp?” Timothy asks and I jump. Where the hell did he come from?
I can’t think of a single goddamn thing to say that might get him to go away.
“What’s up?” Timothy asks, pulling out a barstool and sitting across the island from me. “Jessie?”
“No.” I lie, but she’s part of the reason I’m pulverizing this steak. It feels like she’s slipping away from me, closing doors, and I don’t know what to do to stop her. If I should. Hell, this is just sex, and the sex continues to be mind-blowing, so I should leave it alone, right?
Except the thought of leaving makes me feel like my chest is caving in on itself.
“Mom said something about you being replaced,” Timothy says, eyes on the steak.
I give the steak a good thwack in response.
Timothy sighs. “Talk to me, Nic. Tell me what you want and we can figure this out.”
“I don’t know what I want.” Thwack. “I’ve never known what I want.”I don’t deserve what I want.Thwack. “I’m not like you. I don’t have some big life goal.”
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Timothy taps his head. “Hey. Recent life crisis, remember?”
Like I can forget his accident. Just thinking about it makes me break out into a cold sweat. I thought he was a dead man walking that day, bleeding into his brain as he tried to get back on set.
I have to push the memories out of my head or I’ll lose it.
His stunt career is over, but he’s pursued his life with Mina with the same focus and drive, changing one goal for another.
I don’t have that.
Timothy’s talking again, and I’ve missed most of it. “…if you ask her.”
“Ask who what?” I ask, irritated.
“Jessie. To move to LA.”
“She’d never move to LA.” I would never ask her to uproot her life and try to fit into mine. She’d be miserable, I’d be miserable. We’d make each other miserable. I wouldn’t be enough for her and she’d leave. I can’t upend her life for nothing.
Timothy waves it off. “Well, not to your ugly-ass house. Have you looked at any places in Malibu? I think she’d like it there.”
My jaw locks and it takes me a minute to unlock it. “It’s a fling.”
He gives me a look that screamsbullshit. “Not from where I’m sitting.”
Pull your head out of your ass, I want to yell, but instead, I give the meat another thwack and press my lips tight.
“You’ve been in love with Jessie for years,” Timothy says, pushing to his feet and walking over to the fridge to pull out a beer. “Almost as long as she’s been in love with you. We all know it, we’ve all watched this play out for decades. You’ll be walking down the aisle within the year.”
What?
The meat tenderizer drops from my hands, clattering on the bench. Is this—does her whole family expect us to ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after?
“I have plans for your wedding”—Timothy continues, oblivious—“They involves goats, and that’s all you need to know.”
“I am not marrying her.” Or anyone else, I want to add.
He laughs. “Sure, Jan.”
Why can’t I get this through his thick skull? “I don’t love her. I don’t want a relationship with her. We aren’t even friends. This is nothing more than a convenient fuck for—”
