Page 129 of The Last Good Man

She slides them on as she takes a seat in front of me.

“Drinks?” she says. “I always forget to offer you something to drink.”

I stop her with a flick of my hand.

“Don’t worry. I’m good,” I say, wondering what Jax London drinks when he is here.

And does he sit where I do?

It’s been a week since I met him and five days since I talked to him, and I’ve become obsessed with him.

Now, that would be aninterestingtopic to talk about.

Too bad I can’t tell Aretha everything.

“So, how are things?” she asks. “Not much has changed,” she murmurs, writing something down.

“What makes you say that?”

I lean back, keeping my legs crossed and my back tense.

“You’re still very much pissed.”

I smile.

“It shows?”

“What do you think?”

She lifts her gaze and points to me.

“Your red dress and matching heels. Unless you go to a club later, you’re in the same vengeful mood.”

“Who says I won’t go to a club?” I mutter, realizing how far away we are from talking about what we’re supposed to.

High-quality men and all that crap.

We’re no longer even mentioning it.

“There’s someone else,” I announce coldly.

“Are you meeting him tonight?”

“No. Next week… On Wednesday, at his place. It’s my neighbor.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. We’re not even going out.Hethought drinks and perhaps sex would be enough. I’m so slipping away from finding a good man; it’s not even funny. But I don’t know how to stop.”

“Quit,” she says.

She dares me again or wants to start an argument.

“You quit smoking cold turkey.”

I had a relapse a few days back.

“It’s not the same thing. Quitting won’t solve my problem or bring the right man to my door.”

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