Page 89 of Yes No Maybe

“She asked for your trust. Do this, and you’ll lose her.”

“If I don’t do this, I’ll lose her,andshe’ll end up miserable with that guy.” I glare at Devin, begging him to argue, but he can’t. Sure, my actions might seem underhanded and immature, but not when considering Rowan’s happiness. Her yes to Dean translates to a lifetime of no’s for what she wants and needs. I’m doing thisforher.

My agent, Lynn, answers on the first ring. “Did you finish it?Bare? I’ve been dying to read those final scenes.”

“No. Almost. I need a favor.”

“Oh, my, that sounds intriguing,” she says in her sultriest voice. Ididonce date her so she’d read my manuscript, but she knew what I was up to and never complained. “Name it.”

I explain what I want with as few words as possible, and she doesn’t press me with questions. A good thing since the more my excellent idea rolls around my head, the less confident I feel in it.

“Done. Easy,” she says. “Give me a few days.”

“I’m doing this forher,” I say once I’m off the phone, but Devin’s gone. Not that he’d believe me, anyway.

Twenty-Nine

Rowan

Ican’tleavefastenough. I remember stories of this phenomenon—a wonky love triangle with two men interested in the same woman—but I’ve never even dated two men in the same month, let alone considered myself a candidate for this awkward catastrophe. It’s not the ego-boost it should be—I feel almost sick.

But Dean lingers even after his last shot at Jack like he’s taking a victory lap. He dishes pleasantries to the neighbors, shaking their hands again before I coax him away.

Mom, Sara, and Mira stroll ahead of us, curving around the corner of Jack’s house and taking the shrubbery-lined path. Mira grabs Mom’s luggage, and Sara leads them inside to give her a tour.

I stop Dean at my front door. “What was that?”

“He’s got a thing for you. Can you believe it?” Dean laughs. “I know he’s a womanizer, but I’m surprised. Aren’t you? It was fun playing the protective fiancé’s role againsttheJack Graham, huh? I wonder if he’ll use it in his next book.”

Five seconds ago, I couldn’t have imagined feeling any worse. But now, I do. It’s a double hit to my pride that Dean’s astounded that someone else could have a thing for me, especiallytheJack Graham, and that he’s giddy like he might brag about it to his acting friends.Yeah, you know theNew York Timesbestselling author Jack Graham? He’s in love with my fiancée. He’s got a contract with Netflix.

Worse still, I detect no jealousy or concern. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

His eyes roll like he’s about to explain something simple. “Honey, a man like that is all about conquests. You’d never be so gullible. He probably only wants you because he can’t have you. Or he’s bored with shallow supermodels. Besides, this summer apart proves how committed we are. So, why should I be bothered?”

I sink into myself further like unsettled ground, shifting to fill in invisible holes. “You shouldn’t have taunted him. Or mentioned being in bed together. You embarrassed me.”

His hands land on my upper arms, rubbing up and down—a move I once liked but now makes me cringe. It feels more condescending than affectionate. “You’re right. I took it too far. It was such a surprise, you know.”

“So you’ve said. I want you to stay at your place.”

His genial expression changes into disappointment, but he nods. “Yes, it might be awkward with Sara and Christine here.”

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not it entirely.” I latch on to my growing unease like a life vest in rough seas. “I’m not as confident in us as you are. Not anymore. I’ve tried to tell you, Dean. We need to talk. I don’t want to betogetheruntil I’m sure we’restayingtogether.”

“Wow, okay. I’m a little blindsided, Rowan.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But we should reconnect. It’ll be like we’re dating again. I’ll plan a nice weekend for us, and you’ll see. Everything will be perfect.”

Ourperfectweekend doesn’t happen until Monday night, back-to-school eve. Everything else has taken strange priority. Me opting to keep my shopping plans with Mom and Sara on Friday prompted Dean to catch up on schoolwork and errands on Saturday and Sunday, which felt like retaliation for me not dropping everything for him. He claimed to be overwhelmed, but I suspected he didn’t want to hear what I had to say. He avoided me, just like he had all summer.

But not tonight—I made him promise. I’m carrying his engagement ring in my purse. I will put it on or return it by the night’s end.

Even so, Dean embraces date night with his usual optimism. He wears a dark suit and tie. He looks almost like a movie star—I tell him so. And he beams as if it’s the best compliment I could offer.

“You’re gorgeous.” He pulls me into a warm embrace after wide-eyeing my outfit. It’s a two-piece dress that I bought after finally agreeing to date again and at Mira’s insistence that I looked “banging” in it. The teal silk halter top wraps around my neck, accentuating my shoulders rather than my scars, and cuts off just below my belly button, exposing an inch of skin before the matching skirt hugs my waist and hips and shows off my legs. Mira calls it myfuck-me dress.

But sex isn’t what I’m after. Ineedthe confidence a ‘banging’ outfit provides. Is tonight a break-up date or a reunion? I don’t know. The other night’s backyard fiasco has only worsened my confusion. At least in this outfit, I can feel good about something.

Getting into Dean’s Honda, I hear Rose shout, “Have a nice evening, you two,” from Jack’s front porch, where she and Vernon sway in the swing, Marcy and Tom lean on the railing, and Jack stands like a sentry at the top of the steps, arms folded, and his usual brooding eyes pinched and dark as they trail me to the passenger side.

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