Page 81 of Burn With Me

I continue to try and subdue her, vaguely aware that Lenniis back in the room and trying to pull me off the bed. “Ginny! Stop!”

“GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” Her voice is so piercing it leaves a ringing in my ears.

The sharp sound of her palm meeting my face claps through the air as my head snaps to the right.

“I hate you!” I hear Ginny cry as she pushes away from me.

Stunned, I don’t move for a few moments. Then, slowly, I rotate my head back to look at her. She’s glaring up at me, chest heaving, tears streaming down her face, hair matted to her flushed skin.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I hang my head, unable to continue looking her in the eyes.

There’s no getting through to her right now. And I can’t stand that I’m the one who caused her to feel this way.

Feeling defeated, I turn to leave. As I pass the threshold of the bedroom, I swear I hear her whisper, “Me too.”

Ginny ignores me for days.

Text after text. Call after call. Countless voicemails. Multiple bouquets of flowers—to her apartment, Chillard, and Decadence.

By the time Thursday rolls around, I’m nearly at my wit's end. Yearning to go back to her place to try convincing her that the photo wasn’t what it seemed. But the look in her eyes when I left on Sunday still haunts me.

There’s a nagging feeling at the back of my mind as I recall my uncle’s words from Saturday. He threatened to tell her about the club if I didn’t. Part of me wonders if he was being truthful, and since we’re meeting for lunch, I’m going to ask him point-blank.

My knee bounces under the table as I wait for him, a glassof Macallan in hand, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon. When he finally shows, it’s with a disapproving frown at my glass and a shake of his head. “I’m assuming you’re not going back to the office?”

“Did you tell her?” My fingers tap against the tumbler in time with my knee. It’s a warm day, and the sunlight is pouring through the glass panes, bathing me in its heat.

My uncle cocks his head to the side and asks, “Did I tell who what?”

Prick.

“Don’t be an asshole right now, I’ve been through enough this week.” Tossing what’s left of my drink back, I signal for the waiter to bring me another.

“I think you’re getting a healthy dose of what you deserve, Jackson. And did you really have to have that photographer fired?”

“Fuck you,” I snap. “Why the fuck are youalwayson my case? You were just as bad at my age.”

“Exactly! Which is why I wantyouto be better.” He picks up his menu and sets it down just as quickly, ordering a simple house salad when the waiter brings my scotch.

“You should eat something. Stacey and Claudia both tell me you’ve been drunk for most of the week. I can smell you from here.”

“Did you tell her?” I ask again.

“Why’d you do it, Jackson? The blonde? If Ginny is so different, thenwhy?” He dodges my question again.

My jaw clenches, fingers tightening around the glass as I fix him with a hard glare. He glares right back, clearly not going to answer me. Finally, I tell him, “You said you didn't recognize who I was anymore.”

“I didn’t mean to go out and try to fuck whoever threw themselves at you first. I meant the sneaking around pretending to be someone you aren’t. Fucking off at work.Losingdeals.”

“All of that is because ofher.” Leaning forward in my seat, I push my drink off to the side before I break the glass.

“No, Jackson. All of that is because ofyou. Because you don’t even know what’s staring you right in the face.”

“And what is that?”

“You’re in love with her, you idiot.”

“Ifthisis love, I don’t want it.” I’ve never been in love. Wouldn’t know what it looked like if it slapped me in the face.

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