Page 40 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

They said they wanted our physical relationship to be so hot it would melt TV screens. So what did he do? He built the world’s biggest inferno.

And I’m still reeling from it.

Eighteen hours and twenty-two minutes later.

That’s right. I’ve managed to waste away the rest of our time in Malibu by ignoring, sunbathing, napping, and I even threw in watching The Notebook—for educational purposes. No one will ever be able to convince me that Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams hated each other when they started filming that movie. Their connection is too good to believe that.

And on top of everything I did, Cody was busy himself. His phone was on the kitchen counter, giving me the perfect glimpse of Calista James’s face when she called him. He took the call outside on the deck, but it lasted forty-three minutes.

Forty-three minutes.

What on earth do two people have to talk about for forty-three minutes?

I’m not surprised, really. Of course Cody would almost kiss me and then be on the phone with his dirty mistress five hours later. I actually don’t know if Calista is dirty or not. She seems like a lovely person from everything I’ve seen about her. But the adjective dirty just goes in front of mistress, thanks to Meredith Grey.

“Is that everything?” Cody asks as he lifts my suitcase from the back of his Jeep.

“Yep.” I reach for the luggage.

“No, let me help you carry it to your door.” He glances up at my two-story modern home nestled in Beverly Hills. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.” I beat Cody up the steps and punch in the code on my electronic keypad. The lock turns, and I spin around. “I can take it from here.”

Our fingers slide over each other’s as we make the pass off, and I’m reminded once again that touching him triggers every physical response in my body—normally a good thing unless you’re trying to protect your heart from getting broken by the player who loves to play.

Cody doesn’t retreat. Instead, his hands lazily go to his pockets, and his foot rests on the step above the one he’s standing on. His chin lifts, and with his sunglasses on and that easy smile, he looks like something that just walked out of my deepest fantasy.

My love of the bad boy runs deep.

Too deep.

That’s the thing about bad boys, or playboys, or whatever you want to call them. They have this whole vibe, from the swagger to the good looks to the never-ending confidence. It’s my strongest weakness.

Pull it together, Jenna!

I cannot fall back into the same pattern of behavior. I need to get one of those shirts that say Not today, Satan. And in case you’re wondering, Cody is Satan in this scenario—but a cute Satan, if that helps.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, taking a step inside.

“Do you think our weekend in Malibu worked? Will Quinton be satisfied with the progress we made?”

I just dropped the biggest get-lost hint of all time, and it didn’t even faze Cody. He’s more interested in lingering chit-chat. I’d press charges for loitering if I actually thought that would get rid of him.

“Yeah, I think we’ll be just fine.”

“What flight to Calgary are you on?”

“Delta.”

The drop in his expression makes me think he’s disappointed. “Air Canada.”

“Oh.” I try to mimic his sad look.

At the sight of my next step inside, Cody gets the hint and backs down my front steps. “Okay, well. I guess I’ll see you in Alberta.”

“Sounds good.” I give a little wave, then shut the door before he has the chance to come back.

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