Her face softens.
I don’t want to lose you.
The words are hovering on my tongue, but just then, her phone rings. She looks at the screen and her expression changes, a small frown clouding her brow.
She takes the call and I try not to listen to her end of the conversation, but from what I hear, somebody wants to meet up tomorrow, and it’s easy for me to guess who.
I drive silently the rest of the way. I don’t own her, and I have no right to be jealous, to feel a sense of loss because the man who has a hold on her heart will always come into the picture.
The call ends, but for the rest of the drive, she looks uncomfortable, her eyes skipping to me and then back to the road ahead.
Do you have something to say to me, Rachel?
“That was Jack Weyland on the phone,” I state, not sure why I’m bothering. It’s obvious from her body language the effect he still has on her. Now that he has reminded her of his presence, does she feel guilty about being with me?
Does she wish she was with him instead?
She turns to the window. “Yes. It was.”
I already knew, yet jealousy seizes my limbs. “And you’re going to see him tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t offer more, and I don’t ask. At her building, I stop the car. “We’re here.”
“I had a great time.” She sounds as stilted as I feel.
“I’m glad I could be of service.”
She sighs at my tone. “I’m just going to have a drink with him.”
“It’s fine.” I shrug. “You said yourself that you can’t just get over someone you’ve loved for years.”
“I was talking about Laurie.”
“So it doesn’t apply to you and Jack?” I sound like an insecure, jealous lover—which maybe I am. “You’re completely over him?”
She makes a frustrated sound. “Yes.”
“So why do you need to go out with him?”
She folds her arms and gives me a stubborn glare. “Because he’s also been a friend. Not every relationship is built completely on sex.”
Unlike ours. She doesn’t say it, but that’s what she means. “You were the one who demanded that this thing we have had to be based on sex alone.”
She swallows. “Maybe now I want more.”
From me or from Weyland? “Do you?”
She draws in a breath. “You can’t give me what I want,” she whispers.
Something freezes inside me. If she’d rather be with Jack Weyland and whatever kind of love and friendship he gives her, it’s fine by me.
I will not beg.
Even though I want to.
“I find it very enlightening that we’re having this conversation right after you spoke to him.” My voice is tight and accusing, but I don’t care. “If you’d rather be with your ex, you don’t have to conjure vague reasons why we shouldn’t be together. Just let me know, and I won’t stop you.”