Page 52 of The Jilted Lovers Club
Jesus, Jordy. Codependent much?I wonder how many times he’s noticed my stupid puppy dog eyes. Is he counting down the days until I’m out of here?
I’m crushing on him hardcore. Meanwhile, he’s likely wondering when he’ll get his house back. It’s probably why he didn’t say more than two words to me when he did get home, didn’t even want to hang out.
I feel like I have whiplash. Two days ago, we were on the river holding hands. Last night, I thought we almost kissed. This morning, he smiled at me like I was someone special.
Tonight, he didn’t even look my way.
Have I imagined everything?
I get up and put my bowl in the sink, running a little water in it so it can soak overnight. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth while staring at myself in the mirror. I look tired, still flushed from our river day in the sun.
What does he see when he looks at me? And why, when I’m leaving in two short weeks, do I even care?
“Pull yourself together, Jordy,” I whisper, looking myself right in the eye. This is not the time for some inappropriate crush. I have a job to do. The workmen will be finished with construction by the end of the week, and then I’ll be busy with pulling in every fixture I’ve purchased for the place in preparation for the grand opening. The last thing I need is a distraction, and definitely not one that will end in heartbreak.
I turn off the light then head back into the hall. For just a moment, I linger near the living room. Not close enough to seeAshton, but I have a clear view of the back of the couch. I catch a glimpse of the jellyfish painting on the wall—still crooked, and completely ridiculous.
I’d laughed when we hung it, now it just looks like a bad joke. A mess of strings floating in confusion.
“My god, don’t you see it? That man could not take his eyes off you.”
Grace’s voice rings in my head. But she’s wrong, and I’m wrong for still being here.
Ashton stirs on the couch, and I turn and tiptoe back to the bedroom.Hisbedroom. I turn on the light and look around, taking in all my clothes in piles on the floor, a chair, and the end of the bed. God, he’s on the couch while I take over his room.
Even though it’s late, I start putting everything in neat piles. I tell myself I’m just picking up. Just folding a few clothes. But then the suitcase comes out, and one pile turns into two, then more.
And suddenly, I’m not just tidying—I’m preparing. For what, I’m not sure. But I need a plan B, a softer place to land when it all falls apart.
Someplace far from here.
Strong Opinions
Ashton
I didn’t sleep. I just laid there on the couch all night, listening to the soft creaks of the house and trying not to think about Jordy—about how much I still want her, even after everything she said in that phone conversation. I heard her come out once, probably to brush her teeth. I pretended to be asleep—coward move, maybe—but I wasn’t ready to face what I’d heard last night.
Or how I feel.
I rub a hand over my face, trying to will the memory out of my head. But her voice won’t leave me.
He’s been really generous, and it might be because he wants more.
I don’t think of him that way.
It’s actually kind of annoying.
He keeps hinting.
I keep dodging, but politely so I can keep a roof over my head.
Obviously, I’m just a pity project to her, something she’s putting up with. I think back to our day on the river, about holding her hand and then later taking her to the art gallery. I thought there’d been a connection. I’d seen the way she looked at me, felt the tug of that thread between us.
Did I misread everything?
After Jordy went to bed, I’d stayed up a little longer. She had too, apparently. Her light had been on for at least another hour, and it took everything in me to not knock on her door and demand to know what was going on. But I didn’t. The thought of her rejecting me again when the phone call had done the job so flawlessly … it would be more than I could take.
And I had two more weeks of putting up a good front.
