I lifted my head andkissed him, tentatively moving my mouth with his while I held myself on theprecipice of impatience and anticipation. Waiting for that initial moment offulfilment. And when inch-by-inch, his body became a part of mine, I laid myhead back, threaded my hands together with his. And my eyes remained open. Toshow, toprove, that it was him. Onlyhim.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
JON
Satisfied and showered, I wrapped a towelaround my waist and bent to steal a kiss before Tess could rake a brush throughher hair.
“You have to hurry,”she urged, smitten laughter in her eyes.
“I know,” I replied,unable to suppress the disappointment in my tone.
The guys were waiting.Before showering, I had texted Devin to let him know I’d overslept, to which hereplied, “Overslept, my ass,” complete with a winking emoji. I was relieved tofind he didn’t take on the personality of a drill sergeant, but still, allteasing aside, I knew they were waiting on me. Who wants to earn himself areputation of being late for work? Not me.
I left the bathroomafter one last glance at Tess, combing her hair and humming a song I onlyvaguely recognized.
“What song is that?” Icalled from the room, as I headed toward my duffel bag.
“Backstreet Boys.” Shegiggled, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. “’I Want It That Way.’”
Groaning, I teased, “Ireally need to get you some One Direction albums.”
“Such a man,” sheretorted sarcastically.
“Hey, I heard nocomplaints about my masculinity earlier,” I laughed, taking note of her openlaptop that she must’ve forgotten to shut down the night before. I bent over tograb my duffel, and glanced momentarily at the laptop’s screen, to find her wordprocessor open.
Having been married forover a decade, I knew the risks of snooping, whether provoked or not. And Iswear that wasn’t my intention when I innocently raised my eyes from the bagand back to the screen while straightening my back. I had no reason to pry intoher business, no reason to question what it was she might’ve been writingabout—why would I? But, in that split second it took for me to stand up, Icaught one term—meet-cute—and my browfurrowed with sudden curiosity.
Had she really takeninspiration from our conversation last night? That was how many writers got thebulk of their inspiration, from their personal experiences—God knows I knewthat firsthand. My mouth quirked with affection. Feeling honored and puffed-up,I needed to know what she’d written.
With just an inkling ofshame flicking at my full heart, I trained my eyes onto the screen, with theintention of only scanning a few lines. Just to see and think, “That’s mygirlfriend and this is what she does.”
And so, I read …
“Wemet because my chatty little girl—wearing a fairy dress, a tiara, andwand—walked up to you in a bar to tell you you’re pretty. That’skindafunny, a little charming, anddefinitelyquirky. So …” He leaned over, kissed my lips, and laid down against thepillows. “I’d say we have a pretty awesomemeet-cute. So, you can go right ahead and putthatin your book.”
My jaw shifted and myeyes scanned, now furiously inquisitive.Suspicious.I daringly used the arrow keys and scrolled through the document, catching bitsof dialogue, bits of monologue, and all of it, the whole thing, soundedfamiliar. Too familiar.
I couldn’t know forsure that she had taken everything from my life and our time together, to putit into her book. But God, it sure seemed like it, and it’s hard to describehow I felt. Betrayed? Duped? Used?All ofthe above? Icouldn’t differentiate one emotion from another as I shook my head, staring atthe screen, unhearing, until a hand shot out and slammed the laptop shut.
“Why were you lookingat my computer?” was her first question, and I shook my head, unable to divertmy gaze from the apple icon. “I didn’t mean to,” I replied stiffly, and then,feeling I owed her an apology for the prohibited snooping, I added, “Sorry.”
“Youdidn’t mean to? Jon, I came out to findyou over here staring and scrolling, like you—”
“I was just getting mybag and happened to notice the screen,” I explained weakly, unable to find anounce of strength to confront the real issue at hand.
“So, then what? Yourhand just happened to fall on the keyboard and you just happened to startscrolling through my stuff?” The tone of her voice was shrill, so unlike her,and when I dared to finally look her in the eye, I saw everything I needed toknow. Everything I wished wasn’t true.
“Why are you getting sodefensive, Tess?” I asked slyly, fighting to keep myself together.
She was only wearing atowel, and I realized I still was, too. My hand reached for my waist, pinchingthe material to ensure it stayed on and closed, suddenly afraid I’d exposemyself. Painfully aware that I already had.
Tess’s eyes dropped tomy hand, still holding the towel, and I saw the realization change the featuresof her face. Her lips parted, her brows tipped, and her gaze emptied of allfury, leaving nothing but despair and worry behind.
“Jon, I—" Herwords were cut short by an abrupt gasp, a sob even, as her eyes filled toresemble two crystal lakes. She wouldn’t look at me, and that alone was enoughto break my heart. Again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want … I didn’twant you to see. I never meant—”
“Tess, you were writinga book with the intention of publishing it someday. That’s what you set out todo. It’s why you were living with your grandma in the first place.” I spokegently, sorry to bring up her grandmother. As I reminded her of this, I wasstartled to find myself calm, despite the distinct feeling of having my hearttorn to shreds. It was an unmistakable piercing sensation, tearing and hot.
“I know,” shewhispered, shaking her head. “B-but I didn’t know what I would do after it wasdone. I swear I didn’t.” With a deep breath, I shook my head and moved past herto the bed. She whirled on her heel. “Jon, I swear to God! I—”
