Page 72 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
“It’s just that—”
“Thank you, Jesse. You made me feel beautiful and wanted in a way that—in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever felt, ever in my life. So thank you for that.” I smile, but it’s sad, regretful, and I can’t hide that. “I’m going to go now, Jesse. Goodbye.”
“Imogen, wait.”
I don’t. I close the truck door, unlock my Camry—the old-fashioned way, with my key in the lock—get in, start the motor. Thank god it starts—with a sick, rattling squeal, but it starts.
I pull away, seeing Jesse jumping from his truck and jogging after me—I hear him telling me to wait.
But I don’t.
I don’t want to know his reasons. I know he has them, and I’m sure they’re good reasons.
He was clear at the start that he doesn’t do heartbreak. He keeps things clean. I went into this knowing exactly what it was—no-strings, no-expectations sex. And as sex goes, it was goddamn spectacular. Fireworks. Ten out of ten.
Hell, twenty out of ten.
But that’s all it was, and I don’t need to hear what he has to say. Excuses, reasons, logic, justifications—I just need to clarify my own emotions, get myself clear of the assumptions I was fostering. The hope I was nurturing.
I make the fatal mistake of looking in the rearview mirror—and I see Jesse, hands in his hair, looking distraught.
I take the extra precaution of shutting off my phone as I drive home, just in case he tries to call.
I don’t cry, but I want to.
Chapter 14
I hide from Jesse and Audra for three days. They both blow up my phone, but after six calls from each, I shut it off and leave it off. I ask for, and receive without question, three days off from Dr. Waverley. I buy a plane ticket to Florida, rent a convertible at the airport, and I visit my parents. They’re overjoyed at my unexpected visit, as I haven’t gotten down to see them more than once or a twice a year for the past several years, even though I talk to them regularly.
We don’t have the kind of relationship where I would ever, ever, ever talk about what’s currently bothering me—they certainly sense it, as I’m out of sorts and mopey most of the time. Instead, they go out of their way to make sure we have lots of fun, keeping the conversation light and happy. We drink wine on their back porch and go see movies at the luxury theater nearby, and go to a comedy show and binge on a season of a period drama on their Netflix account and, honestly, it’s a much-needed getaway from everything.
I finally turn on my phone in the waiting area at my gate while waiting to board my flight home: I have nineteen texts, mostly from Audra, and several from Jesse. I don’t read the ones from Jesse, because I’m chickenshit. The preview line for the thread reads: —always been bad at that, and I’m sorry. Call me if you want.
I don’t dare read the rest.
Audra’s texts are angry. Mostly along the lines of how dare I ignore her, we’re fighting, I promised her details, she knows I’m having a breakdown and if I don’t call her we’re over, we’re totally having a BFF breakup.
I shut my phone off for the flight back home; leave it off for the drive home. It’s late evening by the time I get back to my neighborhood, and as I prepare to turn onto my street, I have a panic attack. What if I go there and he’s there. He could totally be there, if he’s not there already. If I see him, I’ll spill everything.
And I don’t dare do that.
We had casual sex. That’s it. No big deal. People do it all the time. He’s a pro at it. I’m not, but I can figure it out. Audra will teach me how. Maybe I’ll go to a club with her and pick up some younger guy and we’ll have casual sex and I’ll become a casual sex junkie like Audra and Jesse.
The thought is so patently ridiculous that I actually laugh at myself—as I drive right past my house.
There’s only one place to go, and it takes me less than ten minutes to get there.
Audra’s place is a sixth-floor condo, and I have a key. I’m not thinking as I let myself into her building and ride the elevator up—I’m acting on instinct, avoiding thinking or examining my emotions until I know it’s safe, and it won’t be safe until I’m in Audra’s condo, wrapped up in her giant king-size microfleece throw blanket, eating Thai delivery and drinking a vat of wine.
I let myself into her condo, and it’s not until I’ve let the door close behind me that I realize I’ve made a serious mistake.
Audra is bent over the arm of her couch, miniskirt up over her butt, a guy at least ten years younger than her drilling her for all he’s worth. Audra is biting down on a throw pillow to muffle her shrieks, and he’s muffling his grunts by biting her shoulder.
