Page 209 of The Last Good Man

Her gaze lingers on me for a few seconds before going down my attire, which has becomea habit of hers.

It gives her clues on how I feel that day.

And today,my appearance couldn’t be more misleading. I look sharpand rested, but it’s all good foundation, moisturizer, and stubbornness.

My hair is up for a neat appearanceand my suit makes me look like everything is under control.

The real me is the freak going through her stuff.

I tip my eyes to the bag.

“Is that your dinner?” I ask.

“Yes.”

She walks to her desk, and I hold my breath, hoping no clue has been left behind.

“Ready?” she asks unexpectedly.

“Oh. Yes. I thought I was early.”

“You are early.”

She gives me a fake smile.

“We can start right away. Just give me a second.”

We both sit, talking nonsense for an hour.

That happens sometimes.

I can’t openmyselfup and talk about what happened last night, not only because Jax, aka Jack, is a secret but also because the issue is moot.

Aretha can’t add anything to what Jax said.

I get it. It all makes sense now.

I need some time to clear my head and change my ways.

With this being said, Jax might no longer be a possibility.Maybe he never was.

Perhaps he came into my life to teach me a lesson I’d spent too damn long learning by talking to my therapist.

Who knows?

Whatever the real meaning of this twist, I have no desire to talk to her about my men.They’re no longer my men, and I’mno longer searching for that one perfect man.

I need to get real and accept my fate. Whatever that means, being single orbecoming a mafia wife––that will never happen––there’s no point in playing footsies with fate.

So when we’re talking about my job, landlord, and searching for a new home, I can tell how bored she is by how she struggles to keep the corners of her mouth up and her eyes open so she doesn’t fall asleep.

None of my musings make it to her notepad.

It’s like nothing significant happens in my life, and I’m as bored as she is. Frankly, I can’t wait to get out of here, subconsciously wanting to run into him.

It would do me no good, as I don’t even know what to say to him if that happened, but I’m willing to wing it.

We both shift our eyes to the clock on the wall when a sigh succumbs at the bottom of my chest.

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