Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Today is a new day and I’m waiting with takeout from a fancy Italian place she mentioned wanting to try once. It’s probably a stretch. After all, she’ll still have to pop it in the oven when she gets home, so I’m not sure if it’s really the best gesture in the world, but I’m doing my best.
She’s wearing a jean skirt and a black shirt with her hair in a ponytail. She stops in front of me. This time, she only puts one fist on her hip. “What’s this?” she asks, not meeting my eyes.
“A peace offering. It’s Luiggi’s. Lasagna. I didn’t know if you like spinach or sausage, so I got one of each. Four-fifty for an hour and it’ll be–”
“Please stop doing this,” she says. “I don’t know what this is. But I’m done, Jameson. I don’t want your flowers or your chocolate or your sausage lasagna.”
“Damn,” I say. “So you wanted the spinach?”
She looks like she is tempted to laugh, but anger wins out. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to stop making this harder than it already is. I moved on. I’m trying to move on. I just want to forget you and get on with my life. Is that so much to ask?”
“I want to make it up to you,” I say. My words sound flat and stupid to my own ears, but they’re all I’ve got.
“Why? So you can convince me to trust you again and break my heart all over again? Why should I believe some random gifts mean anything about you has changed?” She scoffs and shakes her head. “Thanks, but no thanks.” She goes inside, leaving me standing there with the lasagna.
Dammit. She’s right. I know she’s right. She doesn’t want empty gestures. She wants to know I’m not going to win her back and screw it all up again. But how the hell am I supposed to show her that?
26
CHARLI
I can lie to my friends, but I can’t lie to myself. Jameson’s efforts the last few days have shaken my resolve. I’m clinging desperately to what I think is the smart plan–the safe plan. It’s the plan that says letting him back in will be a mistake that ends in heartbreak.
But every time I see him outside my apartment with some new gift in his hands, something in me stirs. He’s trying so hard that he must be sorry, right?
I’m dwelling on it all while I walk back from my new part-time job. I picked up a job serving coffee while I wait for any kind of news about my book.
I stop in my tracks when I see a poster with a familiar face on it. The format is also familiar. It looks almost exactly like the posters Maddie helped me Photoshop of Vaughn. Except this picture looks real. It’s Jameson holding a pair of big women’s panties in one hand and whitey-tighties in the other hand. He’s smiling wide.
The caption beneath him reads:
“Dirty underwear wanted. Will pay cold hard cash. That’s right, dirty underwear for a dirty man. Check the map for where to find me, day or night.”
I’m frowning in confusion as I look at the map and realize the location is right outside my house. What the hell is this?
Is he getting revenge on himself for me?
When I make it back to my place, I see Jameson actively talking to a man who looks like he might not have showered in the last few weeks. He’s sticking out a concerningly yellowed pair of whitey-tighties toward Jameson and Jameson is handing him a twenty dollar bill.
The underwear goes in a small pile that I’m sure is smelly and unpleasant to sit beside. There’s also a small group of teen kids recording the transaction and laughing openly at him.
Jameson sees me, then waves and smiles. “Bring me anything?” he asks cheerily.
I press my lips together and try very hard not to laugh. I wonder what my friends are going to think when I tell them about this one. Maybe even Roxie will soften up on him. Probably not. But Dani might.
27
JAMESON
If nothing else, the last week is teaching me just how badly I want Charli back. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be dodging work, dealing with Nolan’s increasingly passive aggressive behavior (he hates when I blow off work), and I definitely wouldn’t be standing in the sun and rain to pay various people for their dirty underwear.
As part of my penance, I’ve also been answering every phone call, because I also put up posters explaining how badly I want to have phone sex with men over the age of fifty-five. As it turns out, there are a lot of men in the city who want to take me up on that one.
Alright. I don’t answer every phone call. I’m sure even Charli would give me a pass if she had to listen in on some of those calls.