Page 144 of The Last Good Man

“It’s impossible. You know that. No. Absolutely no. Why are we even having this conversation? I think we should end this now. I’ll stop seeing Aretha and look for a different therapist. I don’t want to run into you again or obsess over you.”

There, I said it. And just by confessing that,hemust know I’m serious.

His expression shifts, and I notice anger and frustration in his gaze.

“Talking about mixed messages,” he mutters. “You, darling, are the queen of them.”

His hand slides off my neck, and I feel like my heart is falling with them.

But it’s the right thing to do.I can’t have sex with him and then go on like nothing happened.

He’s addictive, reads me well, and already lives in my head.Having sex with him would be like having his presence imprinted on me forever. It would ruin me for other men.

So, no.

Relapses aside, I quit smoking, so I can surely quit him.

Imanage toextract myself from between him and the wall and stride away, never feeling more empowered and proud of myself.

And also torn.

“You will regret this, baby,” he tosses behind me.

“I don’t think so,” I say, without turning for fear or showing him my worried face.

26

JAX

“Oh… What the hell happened to you, man?” Noah asks, walking into my apartment and leaving my car keys on the wall table.

Wearing sweatpants and nothing else and nursing a beer, I gesture him to the kitchen.

I want to light a cigarette, but my mother doesn’t like Noah to be exposed to smoke, so I enter the space first, drop the beer onto the granite counter, fish out a cigarette, and head straight to the window.

I crack it open and light my cigarette.

The aroma fills my lungs.

“How was it?” I ask, flicking my head toward the hallway where he left my keys.

“Your ride is awesome, man,” he says, beaming with excitement, his cheeks flushed from the cold outside. “Mine, not so much.”

“Here,” I say, reaching inside my pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. “For your trouble. Make sure Mom doesn’t see the money, or she’ll havea ton ofquestions. You didn’t tell her, did you?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“No way, man.”

He drops his backpack on the counter and slides into a chair at the kitchen table.

My place is not far from my mother’s, but it’s far enough that he’ll need a cab to go back.

“First off, it’s not her business what I’m doing in my free time.”

“I’m sure she’d disagree with that statement.”

He waves me off, laughing.

“And then, it’s fun, man. I always liked to play detective.”

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