Page 59 of Unbossly Manners

I opened Jackson’s Insta account. There was nothing new posted. Then I clicked on Kat’s, and I deflated. There was a post showing her and Evie on a plane flying from India to Italy. I could guess who they were going to see.

I googled how long the flight would take. There were still at least five hours until they’d land if they’d posted the picture before they took off.

I set a reminder to check her Insta account again in six hours. It was pathetic. I know. But I was a mess after the fight with Jackson. Selena was off on a photoshoot on some tropical island across the world, so I could only communicate with her through WhatsApp.

The rest of the day, I tortured myself walking by his office and staring at the untouched basket of bananas.

The next morning I checked Kat’s Insta and immediately berated myself for doing it. It was torture. Her stories were filled with pictures of Jackson on his bike, riding around the hills and valleys of Italy, looking sexy as hell in his tight cycling gear, and sports sunglasses, his features strained with effort as he rode.

The most gut-punching of all were the pics of him standing next to Evie and Kat with a huge grin.

I slammed my phone down, then quickly glanced at the screen worried I’d cracked it. My mind wandered to our night together, and the fluttering in my belly turned sour at the memory of how it ended.

He’d put me on radio silence, and worse, he owed me nothing. I’d treated him like garbage. He was so angry he ran across the globe to escape me and my nasty words.

I lowered my head to the table.

“You okay?”

I looked up at Derrick and smiled wanly.

“Not really.” I flipped my phone over, resisting the urge to look at my Insta.

He sat in the chair next to me, his frame towering over mine, and exhaled, his cheeks puffing out. “I wanted to apologize.”

I put my hand up. With everything else that had happened, I’d forgotten how my date with Derrick had ended.

“There’s no need.”

“I want to explain. There’s a reason why… why I couldn’t, er, you know.”

Get an erection, I thought sourly.

He squirmed in the chair and I mentally shook myself. I was feeling bitter, but it had nothing to do with him. All Derrick was trying to do was tell me something difficult.

“I spoke to my doctor,” he said. “I’ve been taking this new medicine. It shrinks the prostate.”

I sat up straighter memories of my father sick in the hospital with prostate cancer circling my mind. “Are you okay?”

“I take the medication as a precaution.”

“Does it run in your family?”

“Yes. On my mother’s side.”

I pulled at my hair, remembering my dad’s pale face, his cheeks sunken into dark hallows. He was diagnosed and within a few months, he was gone.

“My dad died of it,” I said softly, my throat thick.

Derrick reached his hand out but then pulled back. “I’m so sorry. My doctor says they didn’t find anything in my blood work, but because of my family history they want to get on top of it.”

I cleared my throat and looked at him with renewed clarity.

“So how does it affect…” I glanced down in the general direction of his groin, getting us back on track.

“It decreases something called DHT, which I won’t bore you with, but it can cause—”

“What happened on Saturday,” I said, saving him from saying it out loud.

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