Page 66 of Yes No Maybe

“A rose is still a rose, even hidden under different petals…You are… absurdly beautiful, Rowan. In the strangest, most intoxicating way.”

My breath catches and holds, a little enamored. “Um, you’re quite drunk.”

“No! Just drunk enough to say what Ireallythink. He doesn’t deserve you, you know.”

My eyes catch his, almost surprised at how serious and lucid he is.

“That’s the real, ongoing travesty in all this.” His fingers slip over my cheek and tickle my neck. “The stories people tell you, and you believe… that you’re not enough. That you’re damaged goods. That it’s okay for everything else to come before you. It makes me sad. Sad that you aren’t loved the way you’re meant to be loved. You should be ravished, Rowan.” His goofy smile returns. “And cherished. And fucking adored.”

“Spoken like a true romantic,” I mutter through the lump in my throat. I tug his hand away from my face, holding it against his chest. “No one lines up to do that.”Not even Dean.“But don’t worry about me, Jack. I’m okay with it.”

“You shouldn’t be. Don’t you want to be ravished?” He asks like I’m an alien species, yet to learn human ways.

“Who doesn’t?” I say, not hiding my sarcasm. “I appreciate the sentiment—I think. But everything will look different tomorrow. Promise me you’ll stay here and crash?”

“Only if you make me a promise, too.”

I sigh, giving him an expectant look.

“Promise me… you’ll tell me the real story one day—when you trust me enough. Not for me to write or to satisfy my curiosity. But because letting it go will makeyoufeel better—Iknowit will. Like tonight. Like it always is with us.”

His sincerity breaks through his drunk facade easily, like a train through a tunnel—he truly wants this for me.

“Okay, I will—WhenI trust you enough.” It’s not hard making the promise, not with that disclaimer.When.It’s like sayingwhenhell freezes over orwhenpigs fly. But still, I imagine it wouldn’t be difficult. He is like wine to my inhibitions, sweetly able to lessen my defenses.

Satisfied, he leans against the pillow. “Okay, Rowan. It’s a deal.” He pulls the blanket up while I tuck the edges around him. A fat, orange tabby jumps into the space between his legs, startling me.

“Ah, who’s this?”

“Harper Lee. We both have author-cats.”

I laugh, surprised he hasn’t told me before. “Aw, I loveTo Kill a Mockingbird. That’s the perfect name for a cat. She’s gorgeous.” I lean over and rub her back, initiating heavy purrs.

“So is Edgar Allan Poe. I got tattoos for both. Wanna see?”

“Not tonight. I should go.”

He grabs my hands. “Please, Rowan. Stay. I’m trying to tell you something.”

“I’m listening. What?”

His brow kinks like he can’t remember. “I really like… holding you. We should do it more often. Make it a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Ourthing,” he says. “This isn’t drunk-Jack talking. This is real-Jack.”

A chuckle sputters out, knowing exactly which Jack I’m talking to. “Itwasnice, but it can’t be a regular thing.”

“Why not?” Then, he grunts and rolls his eyes as he realizes the answer. “When’s your acting friend coming back?”

“Next week.”

“Straight into your open arms, right?” His tone shifts to frustration. “Like he hasn’t abandoned you all summer. Like he hasn’t put you in purgatory and made you feel like shit. I see it all over your face. It amazes me what desperate women will put up with for a ring on her finger and a kid down the hall.”

“That’s what you think of me?”

“I get it. You’re marrying him because he’s safe. Well, can’t get safer than a guy who’s gone half the year.” His mocking laugh hurts my ears. “If he cared about you at all, he’d be here to get you out of that dress.”

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