Page 68 of XO

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says in a less accusatory tone.

“I’m the maid of honor.”

“I’m the best man.”

“Well, this is shit!”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?” I grunt in frustration. “I… this… this can’t… Vicki!” I yell across the room, finally earning her attention. Her smile fades, and as she glances between us, she finally realizes there’s history between Jacob and me, and it may not necessarily be a good one. “Vicky, I’m sorry, I have to leave.”

She reaches for my hand. “No, don’t go.”

“I have to.”

“Why? Because of Jacob?”

“Yes. No. Yes! I just… I just can’t be in the same room as him.”

“Rosie, please don’t go,” she pleads, seeing my distress. She wants to make right whatever she thinks is happening, but she has no clue to the extent of pain that’s been dredged up just by seeing his face.

“I have to go.” Grabbing my jacket, I wrap it around my shoulders and head to the door.

“Rosie, wait,” Jacob calls, and I know the whole room has stopped what they’re doing to watch the soap opera unfold.

Ignoring him, I push through the restaurant door and hit the street, my legs working overtime to get me as far away as possible.

“Rosie,” he calls again.

“What?” I yell, spinning on my heel to face him. He’s closer than I expect him to be, already practically in my lap. “What the hell can you possibly have to say to me after all this time, Jacob? What, huh?”

He goes to answer but unlike me, he appears lost for words, almost as if he’s staring at a ghost. “It’s good to see you,” he finally says, the five words completely catching me off guard.

I laugh incredulously while taking a step back ready to put as much distance as possible between Jacob Lynch and me. “Yeah? Well… it’s not good to see you.”

~

Despite already emptying my first bottle of wine, I’m still trembling, my stomach twisting into over-zealous boy scout knots. Glaring at the rapidly depleting second bottle, I wish I’d thought ahead and grabbed a third. Swiping the glass off the counter, I resume my pacing, mumbling under my breath at how life can go fuck itself. And Jacob fucking Lynch can go fuck himself while he’s at it.

Son of a bitch!

Except his mother isn’t a bitch. She’s a fucking angel.

Stupid… motherfucker!

Nope, that’s even worse.

The anger I feel at seeing him again has now morphed into green Hulk mode with the fact that I can’t think of a suitable cuss name to call him while I pace out my rage.

“How can you allow this to happen?” I ask the world. “Is this some sort of joke to you? Is this a ‘Hey, we haven’t fucked with Rosie Reign in a while. Sic the Hellhounds, a.k.a. Jacob Lynch, onto her!’ type of bullshit? ‘Cause I’m not interested. Do you hear me?” I yell, looking up at the ceiling like somehow the world is going to deliver me an answer. My high-heel tip snags the corner of the rug, causing me to stumble and lose balance, wine spilling over my hand. “Don’t you start on me,” I warn, slumping onto the couch to remove my suddenly painful stilettos.

My cell chimes, so I swipe it off the coffee table and narrow my eyes to view the name, blinking twice to clear the drunken blur.

Vicki:Babe, are you okay?

Me:Fine.

Vicki:I’m sorry. I just can’t believe you two know each other. Seriously fucking bizarre. Want me to come over?

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