“In the Upper East Side, that costs us more than most people will ever make in a lifetime.”
“You say this isn’t about money, but you’re sure making it sound like it is. What does it matter how much it costs?”
Blake stepped forward, reaching out to her, but she dodged him. “Jen, I’ve never worn jeans around you. Ever! Do you realize that? Other than when you’ve seen me at the shop, today is the first time, and you insinuated I should ‘clean up’ before we go out.”
“So? What does that even mean? I thought you liked dressing that way.”
“I hate it. This,” he said, gesturing toward his attire, “is how I would normally dress in my off time if I weren’t with you. The suits and the ties and tuxes, they’re not me. I build motorcycles for a living. I like ratty old jeans and grease-stained t-shirts.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say. You can wear jeans, then,” she said, her voice hitching on the words.
Blake squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s not about jeans.” He was botching this, big time. “I want a yard where our kids can play. I want a dog and a neighborhood with grass to walk him in, I want to throw baseballs in the backyard. If my kids spill juice on the carpet, I don’t want to have a heart attack because I know it was imported from France and cost more than my paycheck. I want to be the one to tuck them in at night and drive them to school. I want family cook-outs on a grill in the backyard, instead of catered events.”
Jen’s hands clenched into fists, her breathing heavy. “I feel like I’m being attacked,” she said, her voice thick.
Blake reached out and grabbed her hand. This time, she let him. He hated the flash of pain he saw in her eyes, knowing he put it there. None of this was her fault. “I’m not attacking you. Jen, you can offer someone an amazing life. Most people in the world would think I’m insane for turning all of this down,” he said, glancing around the room. “It’s amazing. But if I’m being honest with myself, it’s not me. If I stayed, I’d live my life trying to measure up and always failing. I’d live my life, shoving down my own desires to please you. That’s not fair to either of us.”
He squeezed her hands as she dropped her gaze to their linked fingers, her chin trembling with emotion. “You deserve someone who loves you for the person you are and not what you can offer. When I first met you, a part of me felt privileged that you would choose me. Because I never thought I was enough. And maybe I realize now that was part of the appeal. But you deserve so much more. You need someone who wants the same things out of life as you. There’s nothing wrong with living in a penthouse suite, having housekeepers, or a chef. Those are all amazing luxuries. I just . . .” Blake shrugged. “I’ll never feel like I belong here, however wrong that may be. And I think I realized these past weeks that I want something different.”
Jen lifted her head, her eyes glistening with tears. “You fell for her, didn’t you?”
All the blood drained from his face, and his stomach squeezed. “Who?” he asked, even though he knew exactly who she referred to.
His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for her answer.
“Mel,” she said simply, and he was half surprised she remembered her name. “You fell for her.”
Not a question this time, but a statement.
Blake nodded, jaw clenched. “Maybe. I don’t know . . .” he said. But he did know. It just didn’t make any sense.
She exhaled and stepped back, pulling her hand from his grip. Turning away from him, she glanced over her shoulder one last time. “Well, what are you waiting for, then? Go get her.”
THE SECOND GRANT PICKED up the phone, Blake blurted, “I did it.”
“You did what? Had a sex change? I always knew you were more female than male.”
“You’re hilarious.” Blake rolled his eyes as he made his way to B’s Bikes around the corner. He needed to think, and what better way than while repairing a dead engine or reviving an old chopper? “I broke up with Jen.”
Grant whistled. “Whoa, dude. I have to say, I wasn’t sure you had it in ya. I mean, I know you talked about it the other day, but what gives?”
Blake walked beneath the glow of the lights of several bars, dodging people on the sidewalk as he went. “I realized you were right. It’s not just about Mel or Jen’s father. I don’t want a life full of galas and dinner parties and Saturdays spent schmoozing a bunch of people I have no interest in just because their wallets are deep. I don’t want to only hang out with her friends or wear suits every day for the rest of my life. It would be exhausting
because I’d be—”
“Pretending,” Grant answered for him.
“Yeah.” Blake nodded to himself.
“It’s about time, bro. I know Jen was a great girl, but from the moment you met her, you’ve been searching for acceptance. Like being with her might somehow validate your life. Only you can do that, man.”
Blake stepped inside his shop and made his way toward the back room, his phone still pressed to his ear. “Is this the part where we hug?”
Grant grinned and lowered his phone, turning toward the sound of Blake’s voice. “Like I want to get close enough to that ugly mug to hug you. Does this mean you’re back?”
Blake arched a brow. “I owe Mel two more weeks. I promised.”
“Still set on the mom, huh?”