Page 13 of Man of the Month Club: January
It’s a simple question, but I don’t have a simple answer for it. In fact, I’m not coming up with any answer for it at all. “I… I’m… Well… We… I don’t know.”
My quiet admission makes the wheels begin turning in my head.Why did I leave Jett’s house tonight? He seemed perfectly willing to let me stay. Why was I turning my back on potential happiness? My life has been turned upside down enough without me adding self-sabotage to my list of problems.
Almost as if she could hear my thoughts and the conclusion they came to, Ciara suggests, “Go get your man.”
“I think I will,” I answer her, unable to wipe the wide grin off my face as I sign off the call and race out to my car.
I blast the radio and sing along to the upbeat tune, “Walking on Sunshine,” as I drive from my small apartment to Jett’s luxury home. The extra car in his driveway makes my foot falter on the brake pedal as I make the turn onto his road.
Fearing the worst, but needing to see with my own eyes, I coast into his driveway. Tears burn behind my eyes and blur my vision when I look into the giant picture window of his living room and see the back of a woman with long, flowing hair as she’s being hugged by the man I had been beginning to dare to trust.
12
Jett
Things had seemed like they were going so well with Maggie, but now she is ignoring me. She won’t even pick up her phone or respond to my texts to give me an explanation. She is completely ghosting me, and it feels absolutely dreadful. I can’t believe I ever did this to anyone. I owe them all apologies for being a total dick.
I don’t care if it makes me look desperate, I need to know what went wrong. I had believed that Maggie and I were on the fast track to being each other’s happily-ever-after and now she won’t even speak to me.
If nothing else, I can’t believe she is turning her back on the job she had seemed so excited about. It simply doesn’t make sense.
Even though I have a full roster of showings scheduled for this afternoon, I call Phoebe to have her track down Maggie’s address from her friend, Ciara. I can’t just leave things like this. Maggie is going to have to tell me to my face why she doesn’t want us to be together.
It will rip my heart from my chest to hear it, but I need that closure. Not that I’ll ever be able to move on, since Maggie has ruined me for other women, but at least I’ll know what went wrong. From my perspective, everything was great. Actually, things were well beyond great. They were remarkable.
When I reach her apartment, I pound on her door. The thought enters my mind that her neighbors might think I’m trying to beat my way inside, but I’m too distraught to worry about them calling the cops. Maybe the police could help me make Maggie see reason.
Shaking my head, it dawns on me that perhaps I’m losing my mind. Hoping the cops will force the woman of my dreams to be with me is not exactly a rational thought.
“Maggie!” I shout. “You’re making me crazy!”
She opens the door a crack to shush me before hissing, “I have neighbors, and Mrs. Tucker likes to nap each day during this time.”
Even when she’s reprimanding me, she is adorable. I find it completely endearing that she knows her neighbor’s napping schedule.
“Let me in, then,” I say logically.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she murmurs sadly.
“I’ll just keep getting louder until I disturb Mrs. Tucker’s nap,” I threaten. I’m not proud of stooping to this level, but I’m desperate to talk to Maggie.
“Oh, okay,” she grumbles as she turns away from the door.
I take advantage of the opening and walk into her small place. It’s not much, but it is tidy and looks comfortable. It’s perfectly staged, which proves that I was right about the potential job for her. Even if she doesn’t want to be in a relationship with me, I still want her to be successful in a career she loves, and I truly think home staging would be perfect for her.
“Maggie, please. Tell me what went wrong.”
She’s looking down at the ground when she says quietly, “You should go.”
“Not until you look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.” It’s a bold statement, but I don’t think she’ll do it. I’m counting on her not doing it.
“I can’t look at you. I’m not wearing any makeup.” Her words are whispered quietly as if she’s ashamed.
“Dammit, Maggie! Don’t you see? I couldn’t care less about your scars. You’re the most beautiful, talented, and loving woman I know, and I want to be with you––and only you.”
“Then why did you have another woman at your house right after I left the other night?” She’s facing me now and her eyes are shooting fire in my direction.
Understanding dawns on me, so I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and press a couple of buttons. When the woman answers, I put her on speaker and ask, “Phoebe, my favorite cousin, where were you on Tuesday night at 9:30 p.m.?”
