Page 44 of Game On
“No, that won’t be necessary.” I unbuckle my seatbelt, eager to handle this myself. “He’s not dangerous or anything. I just—I have nothing more to say to him.”
“I don’t care how big he is.” Hudson says, ignoring my comments. “I guarantee I can make him leave with a snap of my fingers.”
“Really, Hudson, I can handle it,” I insist, reaching for the door handle.
“Alright. If you’re sure.” His knuckles blanch as he grips the steering wheel, the tension in his jaw unmistakable. “I’m close by if you need me, though. Please call if you do.”
He doesn’t like the idea of me being alone with Jamie, that much is clear. But I’m not worried about it. I can stand up to my ex, brush him off without needing a bodyguard, and carry on with my life. Despite how much he hurt me, I’m strong enough to do that alone.
“I will,” I tell him.
“Seriously, El.”
“I swear, I will.” I cross a finger over my chest. “And thank you for the ride.”
“Thank you for the … For letting me practice with you,” he says softly. “It was good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I give him a final nod, forcing a smile as I step out of the truck. I wait until his taillights disappear around the corner before giving myself a mental pep talk. Then, I walk up to Jamie, who’s now noticed me and stands up from the bench. Jamie Baker, with his dark blond mop of hair, and an ego that’s a little too big for the tight Hugo Boss trousers he wears.
He’s an attractive man, sure, but he no longer makes my heart pound. Other than warning me not to flinch, it barely skips a beat.
As I approach, the memories, the good and the bad, swirlaround my head. Jamie’s presence, once so familiar, now feels like a book I closed a long time ago and have no desire to reopen. And yet, here he is, and I have to face him.
Since we’ve been apart, I’ve realized how poorly matched we were. I loved him because he was familiar, comfortable, and he was usually kind to me. But the more time passes, the more indignant I feel. His kindness only extended to me when it suited him—and that’s not good enough anymore. He’s not the only person who exists in this world. How you treat others is just as important, if not more.
It’s simple, really. Jamie’s smarmy attitude doesn’t fit with the life I want to carve out for myself. He could be charming when he wanted to be, but I’d seen the way he’d brush people off, talk down to waiters, or treat my friends like they were beneath him. All with a smile on his face. Not anymore.
“So, who’s the guy?” Jamie asks when I reach him. His gaze darts to the empty space left by Hudson’s truck, a questioning look etched across his face. “You moved on already?”
“As if that was your business,” I say matter-of-factly. A part of me, a very exhausted part, wants to walk away without another word, but here I am, rooted to the spot. The nerve of him, acting like he has any right to question me after how he left things. “What are you doing here?”
I contemplate telling him exactly what I think of him for the way he dropped me. Five years ended via a short phone call. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since the breakup, but there’s nothing like distance to give a girl some much-needed perspective.
I don’t need to yell at him to feel better, though. He doesn’t deserve even that from me. We’re never getting back together, so rehashing it now would be pointless.
He rocks back on his heels, hands buried in the pockets of his trousers. “Came to see you,” he says, his voice laced with a casualness that feels out of place now.
“Why?” I fold my arms across my chest, an instinctual barrier against whatever his answer might be.
“Classes started this week. It’s been a few months since we left home. I wanted to see how you were faring.” His tone is soft, almost cautious. “Didn’t expect you’d be out with some guy.”
I scoff. “Did you enjoy your wonderful single summer in America, and now you’re bored, Jame?”
Hurt flickers in his blue eyes. “Where the hell did you get that idea from?”
Well, now I’ve struck a nerve. “I’m not going to bother answering that. Goodnight. Thanks for the visit. Maybe I’ll see you around campus.”
I turn on my heel to leave, but his voice stops me. “Ella!”
“Bye now,” I call over my shoulder, not bothering to look back as I hurry into the safety of my building.
Inside, the adrenaline that fueled my sharp tongue begins to ebb, leaving behind a bone-deep tiredness. I trudge upstairs, each step heavier than the last. Gabi is there, sprawled on the couch, speaking rapidly in Spanish. She must be talking to her family back home in Puerto Rico. She’s animated, happy, and I don’t want to interrupt her call with my drama.
But as I drag myself into the living room, she looks up anyway. Her brows knit in concern. “Dame un segundo,” she says before pulling out an earbud. “What’s wrong, Ella?”
