Page 85 of Take What You Want

Now I’m secure enough to admit that the guy Jane is currently drooling over catches my attention as well. Waterclings to his heaving, chiseled chest as he towers over the interviewer who’s asking him about his race. His brown hair is dripping wet and sending streaks down his face and neck.

When he flicks his eyes to the camera, Jane practically melts into the couch.

I suddenly hate the guy.

“C’mon,” I say in a sad attempt to steal her attention. “I’m prettier than him.”

Silence.

“Right?”

Jane cranes her neck and raises a brow. “Are you looking for validation, pretty boy?”

“From you? Always.”

She snorts and turns her focus back to the swimmer. “More like from everyone.”

“But yours is my favorite.”

She ignores me and turns up the volume. I round the couch and plop next to her which causes some of the papers to slide off the couch. I rush to pick them up, but Jane doesn’t seem bothered by the mess I made of them.

Hmm.

In fact, she barely even spares a glance at me again, eyes bouncing back and forth between the TV and her laptop. Maybe she’s running up on a deadline for Arun.

But the longer I sit here, it becomes clear that she’s barely making any progress on whatever it is she’s typing. She chews on her lip, staring at her screen but her eyes seem unfocused.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She dips her chin once.

“Was that your answer?”

Again, a single dip of her chin.

I straighten. “Are you ignoring me now?” She seemed fine when I walked in.

She sighs heavily and finally meets my gaze. “I just have a lot of work to do.”

“Are you sure? Or are you using that as an excuse so you don’t have to talk to me about the other night?”

Her spine stiffens. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“You sure about that?” We haven’t seen much of each other the past two days and I know she’s been doing it on purpose. She’s left both mornings before I even woke up and then by the time I get back from the studio in the evenings, she’s been in bed already.

And this isn’t a conversation I wanted to have with her over text.

But if she’s sitting out here tonight when she could be working from her room, there must be a small part of her that wants to have this conversation. To get this out in the open.

She just needs prodding; something I’ve learned recently as vulnerability doesn’t come as easily for her as it used to. My heart clenches at the knowledge that it’s likely because of me.

“Look,” she says, setting her laptop aside. “It happened. We were both drinking and the music and the dancing…it all got the best of us. We don’t need to make it a big deal.”

I blink at her. “But it is a big deal.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Well I want it to,” I say, trying to keep my tone from rising. “I meant what I said, Jane. I want you back.”

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