Page 50 of Jump

I thought our sex was phenomenal.

I want to repeat the sex we had, if only it could be done anonymously again.

When I swallow, what comes out is, “Have you been with anyone else since Ainsley?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He shoves up in his seat, straightening his back, and picks up his beer. “Why does it always come back to Ainsley?”

“Because she was real!”

Though god knows why I push the topic. To me, she’s like a massive neon sign in our home, bright and loud. But to him, it’s almost like I speak of a dark, dirty secret he’d rather forget.

“You wouldn’t get mad at Axel for bringing her up” I point out. “It’s just me.”

“No, I get mad at Axel too,” he growls behind the lip of his beer. “Everyone in this town is so fucking intent on making me talk about her. Every single day. Like it’s disrespectful of me not to insert her into every discussion I ever have. Because if I don’t?” He throws a hand up in frustration. “Well, fuck me, I guess I didn’t love her enough. I guess I was a shit boyfriend, since I’m not still crying into my pillow.”

“No one is trying to make your grief worse, Matt. And no one thinks you’re a bad person for—”

“Everyone is trying to tell me how to grieve! Like there’s a book with specific instructions I have to follow. And shit, but I’m not following the steps. I don’t want to talk about her, except for the times I do. I don’t want to sit here with you,” he firms his lips and stares deep into my eyes. “And talk about her. I don’t want to cook and have this time with you, but have her be the constant topic of discussion. Because then I’m disrespecting you both at the same fucking time. And guess what?”

He stares, like he wants an answer, but he doesn’t give me a chance to speak.

“I don’t want to disrespect you or her. So I want to be Jump, because he doesn’t have that tragic backstory people insist on dwelling on. And I want you to be Ana, because she’s fearless and adventurous.”

“Matt—”

“And the best part about Ana?” he leans closer, so I have no choice but to meet his glare. “The very best thing about her? It’s that she didn’t want my backstory. She didn’t insist I obsess on something that hurts. Ana was all about the moment she was in, about enjoying another human being for the sake of enjoyment, and when it was time to go our separate ways and lock those people away in our memories, she didn’t ruin it by asking me about my dead fucking girlfriend.”

He pushes up to stand, so my stomach drops with dread like it did the other night when I destroyed our conversation, and turns with his plate toward the stove.

“I’m dealing with my things how I see fit.” His tone softens. His words come smoother. “I was in love with a woman who up and died.” He glances over his shoulder and meets my eyes. “No one is as brutally aware of that as I am. So is it such a big deal that I ask for her not to be tossed in my face every hour of the day?”

He’s right… I think. I wouldn’t want to be him, in this town where everyone knows everyone else’s business. But surely, repressing her memory and ignoring her completely isn’t healthy either.

Right?

Geez. I don’t know.

“I’m sorry I brought her up.” I pick up my cooling garlic bread and take a small bite. “Leave the dishes,” I sigh. “I’ll clean it all up before I go to bed.”

“I’m not done with my night.” He turns back with a replenished plate and sits down so we’re face to face again. “You got it out of the way. You asked, I answered. Now you—”

“Well…” I risk another explosion, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t call him out. “You didn’t answer. You shouted about a lot of things, but you didn’t actually answer the question I asked.”

“You want to know if I’ve been with anyone else?” He scoops fresh spaghetti past his lips and studies me intently. “Intimately, since Ainsley?”

Please don’t shout at me. Please don’t shout at me. Please don’t shout at me.

I nod.

He shakes his head. “No one, besides this one chick I like to call Ana.” He sets his fork down and picks up his beer to wash his meal down. “I met Ana approximately seven months after Ainsley’s death. That was the first time—and last—since.” He tips his beer back, but his gaze stays on me. His throat bobs as he swallows, and his jaw clenches, like he’s always angry and tense.

Lowering the bottle, he brings his head down and maintains eye contact. “It was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. That’s not me trying to flatter you,” he snorts when a warm blush fills my cheeks. “It might’ve been because of the alter egos, the anonymity, the masks, and all that shit. Who knows, maybe you and I could fuck now, as Matt and Viv, and it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying. But there you go, now you know.” He tilts his beer toward me. “You been with anyone since me?”

I shake my head, even before I give myself conscious permission to do so. But I’ll be damned if my instant response doesn’t change the darkness in his stare. “No. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I struggle with introversion.” I smile, to let him know I’m joking. Sort of. “I don’t get out and meet a lot of people, and even when I do, like at the Veteran’s Day thing, I’m either not interested, and know it pretty quickly, or I’m not outgoing enough to maintain a conversation with them, which leads them to not being interested in me.”

“Idiots,” he grumbles.

Like my nod, I suspect his response came before his permission. Because he drops his head and picks up his garlic bread instead.

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