She shrugged and tried to sound teasing when she said, “I guess time will tell.”
He slid his fingers between hers. “I’ll just have to keep you too busy to hear the phone, then.”
They took the shuttle to his car, and Hallie thought it felt like it’d been years since they’d left town. Jack kept hold of her hand, but they were both quiet, and it felt like there was a huge, unspoken issue hovering over them.
When they got to his car, she called Ruthie to check on Tigger and tell her they were on the way. Ruthie said she couldn’t bear to part with her cat baby and might have to borrow him the next day.
“So he finally stopped hitting her?” Jack asked.
“Apparently so.”
They settled into silence as he pulled away from the parking lot, and Hallie was relieved when he took a work call. She was able to get in her own head and think while he discussed the concrete finish that was going to be used in an upcoming project.
The one lesson she’d learned from the Ben breakup—thank you, Dr. McBride—was that the most important thing was for her to be honest with herself about how she felt about every little thing, good or bad.
So her first honest admission: She loved Jack. She wanted Jack. What she wanted, more than anything in the world, was to pretend she’d never talked to Alex at the airport. She wanted to throw herself into being with Jack, living like they had over the weekend.
But her second honest admission: She would rather lose any romantic possibilities with him now than go through what she’d gone through with Ben later. That had been hell, and she was positive it would be ten times worse with Jack.
Her third honest admission: She wasn’t mad he’d told Alex about the bet—it wasn’t a super-sworn secret or anything—but she was livid that he hadn’t mentioned it sometime between Alex dumping her and now.
“You okay?”
Hallie glanced over at Jack as he drove along the freeway—she hadn’t even realized he’d disconnected the call.
“Oh. Yeah.” She smiled and her throat was tight. “I’m just so tired.”
“Same.”
She laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, preferring to feign exhaustion over making conversation. Because her fourth honest admission was that she knew exactly what she had to do.
And it made her want to weep.
Jack
Fuuuuuck.
He wasn’t usually insecure, but Hallie had been quiet and distant since running into Alex. She seemed weird about him calling her later, almost as if she was open to it, which made Jack want to toss her phone out the damn window.
He couldn’t stop his brain from thinking, over and over again like a fucking demonic chant, She still wants Alex.
Jack pulled into the parking lot of her building and grabbed her luggage from the trunk, and they went up to her apartment. Ruthie spent twenty minutes telling Hallie everything Tigger had done in her absence while Hal snuggled the huge tabby, so he had a few minutes to get his shit together.
When Ruthie finally left and Hallie closed the door behind her, he pulled Hal into his arms. They were great together, and Alex showing up at the airport was just a blip they’d both forget after five seconds together in her apartment.
But instead of being her playful self, Hallie looked dead serious as her wary eyes stared into his. So serious, in fact, that he actually felt a pang of nervousness slice through his belly.
“What’s up, Tiny Bartender?” He kissed the tip of her nose, the center of the constellation of mini-freckles. “You look troubled.”
She swallowed and said, “Nah, I’m just a little . . . introspective as we leave the fake dating behind.”
“Introspective, huh?” His heart started pounding—stupid, that—as he got ready to tell her exactly how he felt. If she was ready to talk about their relationship, God help him, he was ready to put himself out there and confess to every overpowering feeling he had for her.
She nodded and set her hands on his chest. “This is our last night of pretend, and part of me is going to miss it.”
“It has been fun,” he said, a little confused by her referring to that night, that moment, as pretend when it was only the two of them in her apartment.
Also—what the fuck—the night before definitely hadn’t been pretend for either one of them.
“Agreed.” She looked sad as she said, “The lines got a little blurry over the weekend, but you were the perfect fake boyfriend, and I’m so grateful.”
He didn’t say anything, because his throat was too tight to speak. It was all there on her face, in the fatalistic way she looked up at him.