Page 64 of The Coach

She sits.

I sit.

We stare at each other.

Neither of us speaks.

Because what the hell do you even say?

How do you start a conversation like this?

My jaw tenses.

And before I can stop myself, the first words out of my mouth aren’t hello.

They’re low. Intense. Raw.

“Ivy. Tell me the truth. Is it mine?”

Her eyes well up immediately.

Shit.

Her hand tightens around her water glass, knuckles white.

And then she lets out a sharp breath, shaking her head.

“No, Jackson. I came all the way here to humiliate myself just to mess with you!” Her voice rises. “Yes, it’s yours!”

A couple at a nearby table turn their heads.

A server passing by slows for half a second before wisely continuing on.

Okay.

Wrong move.

I scrub a hand over my jaw, exhaling sharply.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” My heart pounds like crazy. “It’s just…I don’t know what to say.”

I reach for my drink, but my hand is shaking, so I set it down without taking a sip.

“I tried to call you,” I blurt. “I wanted to call you, I mean.”

Ivy stares at me, disbelieving.

“…You tried to call me?”

I nod. “I lost your number.”

Her expression flattens.

“…Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously. My wallet got stolen on the train home, and your number was in it.”

Her lips part. She blinks. “I don’t believe you.”

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