Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I lace my fingers together around my steaming cappuccino. “I was hoping you could help me out with that part. I’ve only had two serious girlfriends and I never lied to either one of them. I don’t have any experience with this sort of thing.”
“And you assume I do?” Jack says with an offended snort, but before I can apologize, he adds, “Well, you’re right. I do. I’m not proud of it, but back in college I was a dumbass. I thought it was okay to secretly date several girls at a time without telling them about each other, as long as I informed each of them that I wasn’t looking for a relationship.”
I wince. “How’d that work out?”
“About as well as you would assume. They eventually found out about each other and joined forces to destroy me. Luckily, they were nice people and seemed satisfied with egging my SUV and writing ‘Jack is a Limp Dick Loser’ on the sidewalk outside my apartment, but it taught me a lesson: When it comes to intimate relationships, always err on the side of too much information.”
I nod. “Okay, so I’ll tell her everything, all the reasons I thought it was a good idea to blur the truth and let her misunderstanding about us both being virgins stand that first night. I’ll do a twenty-page PowerPoint with all the data, ending with reasons it would be a good idea to forgive me.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “No. It’s too late for that. Information only works up front. On the other side of lies like these, you only have one option: Groveling for forgiveness. On your belly. Preferably with some sort of expensive jewelry clutched in your pitiful lying hand as an offering.”
I sit back in my chair with a grunt.
Clearly reading my doubt, Jack doubles down. “Jewelry, my friend. The fancier the better. And don’t start telling me your girl is the lone woman on earth who doesn’t like jewelry or care about how expensive it is. It’s not just jewelry; it’s physical evidence of your interest in commitment. It’s putting your money where your heart is. That’s what they like about it. It’s not the money, not directly anyway. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I bite my lip, my gut still insisting that Jess isn’t that girl. She’s never cared about stuff like that, and when she asked me about being rich the other day, she didn’t ask in a covetous way, more…a curious way. And her dreams for having money didn’t involve expensive jewelry or fancy clothes. She just wanted… “A washer and dryer in her apartment,” I blurt out, sitting up straighter. “That’s what she wants.”
Jack frowns. “No, it’s not. I mean, she may want that, but first she wants expensive jewelry and groveling.”
Pushing back my chair, I pull a twenty from my wallet. “Okay, I’ll do that, too. But I have to hurry if I’m going to get that all in place before she gets back with the cat.”
“You’re not listening,” Jack says. “And you’re not ready to be a cat dad. You two are moving way too fast. Start with a goldfish. They’re hardy and easy to move out when one of you decides love is too hard.”
I put the money on the table, feeling more at peace than I have since Sunday night. “Jess doesn’t believe in ‘too hard.’ If she wants something, she goes after it with everything she’s got and doesn’t stop until she makes her dream a reality.”
Jack sighs and lifts his hands in surrender. “Okay. I hope you’re right.”
“Thanks, I do, too,” I say, promising to touch base before the picnic on Friday before heading out of the coffee shop into the still-cool morning air, determined to make things right.
But I should have realized that the only thing harder than finding a company willing to do a same-day installation on a washer-dryer combo in an apartment on the fifth floor with no elevator and no approval from the landlord is…love.
Love is hard as hell.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jess
Timing is everything.
If I hadn’t been half an hour late to pick up Handsome—subway delays are the bane of my existence and a good reminder why I don’t like leaving the house—I wouldn’t have run into Fake Boob Woman and her friend in the lobby of the Animal Rescue building.
I wouldn’t have attracted her attention by shooting daggers at her with my eyes for causing Sam to get run over by a bicycle or heard her weirdly husky voice say, “You’re that girl, right? Sam’s friend?”
I blink, my chin retreating into my neck in surprise as my copy of Cat Fancy drops to my lap.
Did Sam tell her his name at the event on Saturday? I don’t remember that happening, but maybe I was distracted by cute cats. Stranger things have happened.