Page 47 of Yes No Maybe

Unsure and uneasy, I do as he says. Moments later, Jack’s gone.

Fifteen

Jack

Idon’tknowwhyI’m pissed. Rephrase—Iknowwhy, but I don’t like it. It’s jealousy—the familiar pangs of discontent I’ve felt lately over other authors pumping out new books and my friends talking about their kids’ games branches into new territory. And I don’t like it at all.

Rowan takes the call, her voice lifting into feigned cheerfulness as she answers—she doesn’t want to talk to him. I shouldn’t have pushed her. She paces the living room, head lowered. Whatever he’s saying to her, it’s bullshit, but she listens, giving him attention he doesn’t deserve.

I’m not jealous of that. Unlike the rest of the neighborhood, I’ve never doubted the existence of Dean. Her semi-engaged status has been stuck on repeat in my head ever since striking our deal.Neighbor. Engaged. Off-limits.

It’s what she said—everything she said—that upsets me.

From the living room, I hear a weak, “…yes, Dean, but…” Her words linger in the air, unfinished.

My anger upticks. Where does she find these asshole fuck-heads who won’t even let her finish a sentence? I can’t listen anymore.

I put the food away and eye my book on the counter with its bent spine and sticky-note-rainbow. I tuck it into my waistband under my shirt and make a quick exit.

At home, I toss the book on the kitchen counter—I’m in the wrong headspace for that right now. I pour Jim Beam and watch the liquid swirl in my glass.

Rowan’s dating history makes my blood boil. Ihatehow she’s been treated. And tonight’s revelations aren’t the worst of it—her reluctance makes it clear. She blames her face. I blame fucking men—the entitled, manipulative, twisted pricks who leech onto her because they think she’s an easy target. Her words to Mira make more sense now—datingistorture for her.

But that’s not entirely why I feel like shit right now. If anything, I should be thrilled that she shared something so personal—she’s dropping her iron shields around me. That’s a momentous win.

“Then, what’s the prob, Bob?” Devin’s voice brings a light smile. I picture him on the barstool, eyeing my drink with nostalgia for the days we’d sneak Dad’s bottle and get stupid-drunk with Corey on boring Saturday nights.

“Theprobis she racks up assholes like she’s curating a collection for a dickhead museum. She could do so much better.”

“Like you?”

“No, not me.” I toss back my drink. “I’d just be another asshole.”

“Then don’t be another asshole.” Devin challenges with his goofy grin. “Be a friend, and see what happens.”

Scoffing, I pour another drink. “I’m off to a good start with the novel. I don’t need her.”

“Then, why are we talking about her?”

“I don’t know. She’s… got me flustered. Intimacy means everything to her—I wonder what that’s like. To slowly ease into her heart until she gives all of it.That’swhat I’m missing. Meaning. Substance. Real affection.”

“I believe the technical term for that is love. But in book jargon, it’s the slow burn neighbors to friends to soulmates story—I know that one well,” Devin says deviously.

“I’m talking theoretically. Rowan isn’t interested. Or available. Or a good idea.”

“Excuses, excuses. Who are you trying to convince, huh? Be honest—” He leans over the counter, locking eyes with me like he’s a human lie detector. “You want to be the one easing into her heart and getting to her everything. Right?”

“I want…” My brow pinches in futile deliberation—what I want doesn’t matter. Still, I give imaginary Devin an answer, if only to keep the conversation going. “… her to have the love she deserves. She’s earned it.”

“I dare you to give it to her,” he says as if we’re playing a game. “Who knows? You might get love, too.”

I scoff again while my phone chimes. Jennifer, the sexy optometrist and roller derby maven, sends a suggestive text before asking to come over.

“I prefer my usual happy endings, but thanks anyway.” I send the thumbs-up emoji. When I look up, Devin’s gone. Not that he was really there in the first place.

Twenty minutes later, Jennifer’s pinned against the foyer wall, my tongue plunged into her mouth, and my hand between her legs. I didn’t even say anything when I answered the door.

But despite the gusto of our good time, our reindeer games don’t play out like normal. I’m distracted. I keep thinking how different this would be with Rowan. Slower. Softer. Sexier. Intimate. I imagine her legs wrapped around me, her fingers on my arms, my hands lacing her hair. And that smile—delicate, wanting, hopeful.

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