Man Candy (27 page)

All this to avoid ending up like

Margot, and yet that was exactly where I

was—broken-hearted, mad, and

desperately wondering if I’d done the

right thing.

TWENTY-FIVE

QUINN

I COULDN’T SLEEP. All night long I

lay there staring at the ceiling, cursing

Jaime’s stubborn streak and her fucked-

up ideas about love and relationships.

Did she think I was stupid? Did she

think I wouldn’t see through her?

I
knew
her.

There was no way I’d misjudged her

over the last six weeks—she didn’t want

to step back from us any more than I

wanted to. It was fear, plain and simple.

She was afraid of letting herself be

happy with me. She saw her friend fall

apart after a bad breakup, and it scared

her. But rather than come to me and

admit that, she’d run in the other

direction. She couldn’t handle her

feelings for me, so she’d just decided to

turn them off.

Well, she’d
try
to turn them off. But

love wasn’t like a fucking oven or faucet

or lamp. There was no OFF switch.

How was she planning to do it? She’d

said something about being friends that

occasionally hung out—and I was pretty

sure by “hang out” she meant
fuck
—but

there was no way I could do that.

Did she honestly think we could still

have sex without feelings?

She wants to think that. She wants

to believe that she’s above falling for

someone this way.

But she wasn’t. I saw it in her face—

she could hardly look at me while she

was talking. And then she’d expected me

to argue with her, as if that wouldn’t just

make her dig her heels in deeper. If I’d

thought for one second that hearing me

say “I love you, don’t do this” would

change her mind, I’d have said it.

But that wasn't the answer.

Jaime wasn’t like any woman I

knew. She didn’t need me to declare my

feelings—she knew how I felt. This

really didn’t have anything to do with

me.

It was about her.

She had to get over her fear and her

skepticism, and it was something she had

to do on her own.

She had to miss me, miss what we

had. More than that, she had to see it as

something she didn’t want to live

without, something worth the risk. I

knew she’d miss the sex, and fucking

hell, I would too, but she had to miss

more than that for her to change. She

could get great sex from any guy with

half a brain and a functional dick

(although I do like to think mine is more

than just functional). What
we
had was

something special.

At least, I’d thought it was.

I’d tried hard to be what she wanted,

give her the space she needed, respect

her boundaries, but if it wasn’t enough,

then I’d have to get over her somehow.

Move on. Try to forget.

The thought was like a

sledgehammer to my chest.

I fucking
loved
her. I wanted to
be

with her. I didn’t need her to be perfect

or wear a ring or spend every waking

moment with me, I just wanted to share

my life with her, make her laugh, make

her happy—and I wanted some

assurance that she wasn’t going to run

away whenever she got scared.

I thought about the way my father had

taken off on my mother and felt a rush of

sympathy for her. Did I love a lost cause,

too?

I knew one thing—I’d been wrong to

think I could prove to her that love

existed…she’d refuse to see it. She

didn’t
want
to see it. She wouldn’t let

herself.

And there wasn’t a thing I could do

about it.

I couldn’t stay here any longer.

Knowing she was up there, probably

miserable and too stubborn to come

down here and talk about it, would drive

me crazy. I’d give in and go up to her,

and we’d either end up fighting or

fucking, neither of which would alter her

point of view.

No. She’d turned me away, so I’d

give her what she wanted.

No matter how much it hurt.

TWENTY-SIX

JAIME

HE MOVED out the next day.

Without a word to me.

He didn’t call or text or leave a note

or anything. He just packed up and left.

I realized this because I actually

went down to talk to him after I got home

from work. I’d spent the whole night

crying and the entire day at work

agonizing over what I’d done and his

reaction to it. I wasn’t even sure what I

was going to say to him when I knocked

on his door; I just knew that I hated

where we’d left things, and I didn’t want

him to move out without at least one

more conversation.

Maybe I’d been too hasty in calling

things off. Maybe I’d let Margot’s

situation influence me too much. Maybe

this time he’d try harder to change my

mind.

I knew my face looked puffy and

terrible—people at work kept asking if

I’d had an allergic reaction to something

—but I knocked anyway. When he didn’t

answer, I realized that I hadn’t seen his

car on the street. (Never did clean out

the other half of the garage. Yet another

thing to feel bad about.) I’m not sure

what made me check the handle to see if

the door was locked, but when the knob

turned, I pushed it open.

I knew right away he was gone. It

just felt empty. All the furniture was still

there, obviously, but none of his things—

no books on the coffee table, no boots by

the door, no photos of him and his mom

on the built-in shelves next to the

fireplace.

Wandering into the kitchen, I noticed

he’d left it spotless—no dishes in the

sink or even in the dishwasher, no

crumbs on the floor, no spills on the

counter. I opened the fridge and saw that

he’d emptied it out, and the freezer as

well.

In his bedroom, I checked the closet

and nightstand drawer. No condoms. The

thought of Quinn needing condoms at his

new place hit me hard in the gut, and I

sat back on the bare mattress as if I’d

been pushed.

But he’s mine!

Fists and jaw clenched in rage, I

went into the bathroom and opened all

the drawers, even peeked into the

shower. Everything was gone, but I

could still smell his soap and cologne.

Goddamn it!

I ran back through his flat, slammed

the door, and pounded up the steps.

Inside my apartment, I threw myself on

the couch and curled into a ball, hugging

a throw pillow to my stomach.

He must have called the movers and

rescheduled for today. But why? He

hadn’t even seemed upset last night! Was

this just to punish me? Make me regret

my decision?

Or maybe overnight he’d decided I

was right, and stepping back was the

best thing for us. Maybe I wasn’t worth

the hassle.

Angry and confused, I spent a

wretched hour staring at my phone, even

picking it up once and nearly pressing

his name, but I never reached out.

I endured another miserable night.

Followed by a miserable week.

And then another.

I even called Alex, hoping he might

drop Quinn’s name, but he didn’t.

I thought about him every day,

endless questions peppering my brain all

day long. What was he doing? Did he

miss me? Was he settling in OK? How

was the view of Comerica Park? Who

would he take to Opening Day? Had he

slept with anyone? Was he thinking about

me? Who did he talk to about his mom?

Who did he tease? Who did he cook for?

His Instagram posting had stopped,

too.

Damn him! It was like he knew I was

trying to stalk him and he was thwarting

my efforts!

My body craved his with such

intensity, even my vibrator didn’t take

the edge off. My heart ached painfully

when I thought about never being close

to him again.

You were always going to feel like

this,
said the cynic in me.
So it’s now
instead of later, big deal. In fact,
better
now than later, because more time

together would have meant even

stronger feelings, right? It would have

been harder down the road. When

there’s a matter to be settled, you settle

it.

Yes! I clung to that. It made sense to

me.

My friends? Not so much.

“You did
what
?” Claire screeched at

GNO, three days after I broke up with

Quinn.

“I broke things off with Quinn. It was

time.” I couldn’t look either one of them

in the eye so I focused on my martini.

“What do you mean, ‘It was time?’”

Margot said suspiciously. “Was there

some sort of expiration date?”

“No. It was just…time to step back.

You know me.” I shrugged, trying to

sound casual. It felt horrible to lie to my

friends, but I thought if I could convince

them I was OK, I’d have a better chance

of convincing myself.

It was not going well.

Claire’s jaw was open and cocked to

one side, eyes narrowed. Margot was

making this face she makes with one

eyebrow up, lips pressed together, her

gaze so searing hot you’d swear she

could fry an egg with it.

(Tonight the role of the egg will be

played by Jaime Owens.)

“This is bullshit, Jaime,” she said.

“This is just you freaking out because

someone finally
got
to you.”

“Exactly,” said Claire. “Quinn is

crazy about you, and you’re crazy about

him. I’ve seen it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said

lamely. “And I’m not
that
crazy about

him.”

“Don’t lie to us. We’ve known you

too long, and your cheeks get too red.”

Claire shook her head. “You’re

sabotaging this on purpose.”

“I am not!”

“You are, but let’s ignore that for a

second.” Margot waved a hand in the

air. “What did Quinn say when you said

you wanted to break up?”

“He didn’t even care.”

“Another lie,” said Margot.

“Yep,” said Claire.

“It’s not! He didn’t say anything, and

when I told him he had to say
something
,

he said, ‘OK, if that’s what you want.’” I

left out the part where he said it wasn’t

what he wanted. Didn’t really fit into the

Poor Me picture I was painting.

Margot sat back, arms crossed. “I

don’t buy it.”

Claire shook her head. “Me either.”

“Look, you guys can gang up on me

all you want, but that doesn’t change the

fact that Quinn moved out without saying

anything
to me the very next day. I’m

telling you, he
didn’t care
. Now can we

please talk about something else? I’m

trying to forget the whole thing.”

Their faces softened.

“Sorry, Jaims. We’re not trying to

gang up on you.” Margot put her hand on

my arm. “We just don’t want to see you

hurt.”

“I’m looking out for myself so I

don’t
get hurt, OK?” I said, trying to

force the lump in my throat to go away.

“You of all people should understand me

right now.”

She didn’t say anything, but she

nodded and patted my arm. “OK. Let’s

talk about something else.”

“How are
you
doing, Margot?”

Claire asked her.

She took a breath. “Better. Not great,

but better. Thinking things through.

Talking to my therapist. I think you might

have been right about a change, Jaime.”

I smiled, glad to hear I was right

about something.

Maybe I wouldn’t cry myself to

sleep tonight.

ALEX’S BIRTHDAY was toward the

end of March, and Nolan was throwing

him a party at their house. I had to show

my face, but I was terrified of running

into Quinn. We hadn’t seen or spoken to

each other in three weeks, and I was

finally able to go a day without crying or

eating a king-sized Hershey bar, but I

wasn’t anywhere near over him. Would

seeing him again fuck me up completely?

Would I fall apart?

No. Don’t let it. Be strong.

Figuring strength would come easier

if I felt good about my appearance, I got

my eyebrows waxed and my hair blown

out. I wore what I considered my best

armor, a sexy little black dress that

showed off my curves and the leopard

heels. I gave myself a Sophia Loren eye

and a classic red lip. When I saw the

necklace he’d given me in my jewelry

drawer, my stomach twisted. I loved it

so much, but I hadn’t been able to bring

myself to wear it since Quinn moved out.

The reminder of that amazing night was