Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(103)

“That’s an excellent plan. And again—I’m so sorry if I pushed you to submit it before—”

I cover his mouth with my finger. “That was a good experience. I learned from it. And the only thing you’re guilty of in that situation is being the most supportive person I could ask for. Onward and upward, right?”

He nods, softly smiling at me. “I think we’re going to be okay.”

“I think so too.”

And the next morning, when I feel the bed dip and watch Jack grab his pants and silently pad toward my door, I don’t even panic. I don’t even fear that he’s changed his mind and is leaving me. It’s a monumental moment in Emily Land.

“Where are you going?” I ask, and he pauses and turns to me with a smile. He makes his way back to my side of the bed, pushes my hair back from my face, and leans down to kiss my cheek.

“Someone’s coming to look at my bike.”

My eyes fully pop open now. “Because it’s so pretty?”

“Yes. And because he wants to buy it.”

“Jack!” I sit up.

He silences me with his finger like I did for him. “It’s been fun to drive but make no mistake, that bike is not important to me. You are important to me. And I only had it for so long because . . .” He pauses and swallows, clears his throat, and tries again. “I’ve never felt important to someone else before. And now that I am—I don’t take that lightly. You’ve endured so much grief already. I won’t needlessly be the cause of any more of it in your life. The bike goes.”

I smile and then bite his finger. Just a little. Enough to make him grin.





13 years ago

FROM: Emily Walker <[email protected]> TO: Jack Bennett <[email protected]> DATE: Thu, August 18 9:10 AM

SUBJECT: This means war . . .

Hitting on me after spilling coffee all over my shirt was one thing . . . but taking the seat at the front of class that you SAW me going for??? Unforgivable. We will not be friends and I wanted to make sure you know it.

FROM: Jack Bennett <[email protected]> TO: Emily Walker <[email protected]> DATE: Thu, August 18 9:45 AM

SUBJECT: This means war . . .

We’ll see about that. I’m very good at winning people over. It’s all in the long game.





Chapter Thirty-Seven


Jack


I’ve spent most of the day on the phone with Jonathan and Denis, coming up with an official announcement and rebuttal to my dad’s video. I sent them a brief email yesterday after Emily and I talked everything through and basically said: I’ve seen it, and I give you permission to go forth with epic plans to reveal the way it should have been done in the first place. Denis is like a kid in a candy shop. He’s been training his whole life for this moment.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when on our call earlier he informed me that I’d be flying out tomorrow for a GMA interview, have several other interviews throughout the day, and then finish up at The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. Apparently people were more excited to interview me than I imagined. I guess I’ve been able to compartmentalize my success before with the pseudonym. It was never mine. It was always Ranger’s. But now, overnight . . . it’s mine.

Emily keeps telling me to absorb it. To let my heart have it. But it’s difficult and going to take some getting used to.

“I never asked you . . .” she says from the driver’s seat of my SUV as we cruise down Main Street. She’ll always love her truck, but she said she wanted to give my snooty Land Rover a try today. I think she likes it, judging by how she keeps running her hand over the leather console. “Are you going to keep teaching? Now that the news is out?” She says it so upbeat and easygoing—but God, do I know this woman. I hear the slight constriction in her vocal cords. The tightness around her eyes as she smiles. She wants me to feel zero pressure from her while making this decision—but clearly she has strong feelings about it.

Lucky for her, I don’t have to keep her waiting on the answer. I’ve already turned this question over in my head a hundred different times and every way I consider it, the answer is the same. “I’m going to keep teaching.”

Her lips let out a nearly undetectable sigh. “Are you sure?”

“Some things are going to change for me. Like having to get used to doing interviews and book tours. But not that. I love teaching—and I feel lucky to be at a school that makes it easy to love. I’m not ready to give that up yet. Also without me the teachers would have to drink your shit coffee every day and I can’t do that to them.” She smacks the back of her hand playfully against my chest. “Besides, I think I’m one of those authors who need a day job. If all I did was focus on my writing, I’m pretty sure my creativity would shrivel up and die.”

She laughs. “Me too.” And then she seems to stop herself. “I mean . . . I’m in no way comparing myself to you. You’re miles ahead of me, and I can barely call myself an author. I just meant—”

I lay my hand on her thigh and squeeze. “Don’t backtrack. I love hearing you refer to yourself as an author. Because you are. One book or twenty—it doesn’t matter. You put words on paper and created a world that readers are not going to realize they even needed until after they read it and it fills something up in them. Always own that.”