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Jenna stopped by our place that night to see Noah, even though she had to know he was at the paper. Looking back, I know I was played.

“Easier said than done,” I told her, going deep into my hole of self-loathing.

“I know how you feel,” Jenna continued, knowing exactly which buttons to push. “My parents are always comparing me to my brother. Nothing I ever do is good enough. But we are good enough, you know, you and I.”

“Yeah?” I asked, not believing her for a second.

“Yeah,” she said, taking a step forward. “And I think we’d be good together in there too.” She looked into my bedroom.

“Hold up there, miss. I think you’re a little drunk.”

“Not at all. But I think
you’re
a little sexy.” She reached for me. “Come.”

I don’t know why, but I followed her that night. Followed her right into my bedroom.

I’ll never forgive myself for doing that to Noah. Mostly, I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to Jules.

I came clean to Noah not long after and he tried to be cool about it. He said he had planned on breaking up with Jenna anyway. He understood. But then the accident happened…and everything was fucked up for a very long time.

In the end, Noah pulled it together. When he did, he could no longer stand the sight of me. It didn’t help that I was drowning my pain in booze and drugs and girls. So he gave me an ultimatum:
If you don’t leave Jules alone, I will tell her about you and Jenna.

I knew Jules well enough to know she would not tolerate cheating. For any reason. I knew I’d rather have her in my life—even at an excruciating distance—than not at all.

But now Noah has Tabby. He’ll have to understand, or at least take pity on me and give me another chance. He has to.

But until I get the chance to plead my case, Jules is off limits.

Jules

Foster doesn’t come to bed.

The. Entire. Night.

I guess I didn’t make that great of an impression on him. Should’ve listened to the flipping Eight Ball.

I’ve pretty much gone through every scenario I can think of to explain his actions, and none of them are good. There are no signs pointing to
yes.
Maybe last night was all Foster needed to decide it was a mistake. My mind is still reeling from the night. In the past week, he’s given me the two most erotic experiences of my life. But each time he left me craving more and now I feel alone and unwanted. It was clear he wanted last night to be over, so I pretended to go to sleep.

But how could that be?

How could the best night in my life not affect him? Didn’t he feel what we had? Didn’t he want the same thing?

This morning he came into my room to help me with my clothes; the distance between us stretched for miles and the air was thick with tension. Or maybe remorse. He tried to make a few jokes, play it off, but he wasn’t convincing.

I was left to put on my big girl panties and face facts. He doesn’t want me.

That, my friends, sucks balls—the droopy, hairy kind.

Thank God for work. At least there’s something in my life I’m good at—a place where I
am
wanted. It helps being here in the city, around people, where anything is possible. I give myself the pep talk I need to get by. I’ve been here before, after all. There’s no need to sulk. My summer of romance is still within my reach. I just have to take it…with someone else.

I know, how very Deepak Chopra of me.

Plus, it’s hard to be too devastated when I know I have Foster in my apartment for the next week. We have seven days left in this little arrangement. The question is, what could happen in a week? I hate that I’m burning with excitement just thinking about the answer to that question.

Letting myself indulge a little longer, I watch the hustle and bustle of the farmers market outside the window in my cubical. Dozens of people set up shop on the pedestrian-only street of Nicollet Mall to sell their wares as people head into the office. The florists are bundling huge bouquets of gladiolas in shades of reds, yellows, and oranges and the farmers are readying their homegrown fruit and vegetables.

“Hellooo.” A deep voice pulls me from my mental break—
or breakdown
.

It’s Jake
.

There’s no question what his little daily visits are about. He’s made it clear over the past few days—especially at our after-hours sessions—with a familiar touch to my arm, an accidental brush of my thigh when we’re sitting on my couch, and the absolute undivided attention he gives me. Yesterday, he even swept my hair over my shoulder when it was hanging over our paperwork, and then left his hand there a little too long.

I don’t altogether hate it. In fact, I might even like it. If I didn’t know what Foster was capable of doing to my body. If I didn’t ache for him. But I’m tired of being toyed with. I can’t keep going on like this. I can’t keep giving Foster all the power.

“Hi, Jake.” I smile at him and he beams. I can’t lie; it feels pretty darn good to have that kind of effect on someone. Even if he is the
wrong
someone.

“So one more night and I think you’ll be brought up to speed and ready for court. We can handle the rest at the office.”

“Really?” I was worried he wasn’t paying attention to all the work I was doing on this case. I know it inside and out, but he always seems too distracted to notice.

“Really,” he says. “You know this case better than I do, Jules. I’m very impressed.”

“Thanks. That means a lot. So do you want to come to my place after work to finish up?”

“Actually, I was thinking we could do a dinner meeting. I’ve been living off Taco Bell and canned soup for the past week and I need some decent food. Plus, it was torture sitting in your living room while your roommate was cooking.”

Dude, you don’t know the half of it.

My mind instantly goes back to the melt-in-your-mouth scallops and the way Foster fed them to me.

“So I was thinking we could go to Luca’s.”

“Where’s that?” I ask.

“You don’t know Luca’s? And you call yourself pre-law? It’s this hole-in-the-wall diner with the best comfort food. Plus, it’s open late and has great coffee. I’ve spent many a night there cramming.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I guess it is embarrassing I’ve never been to this Luca’s.”

“You really should be ashamed. But don’t worry, I’ll save your rep.”

“Okay, what time?” I ask. The Viking is awfully sweet. Maybe I could be his Sookie.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’s a date,” Jake says on his way out, and I can’t help but think that’s exactly what it is.

I go back to proofing the briefs for Mr. D., a reprieve from the custody battle I’m working on with Jake. So far, I’ve been trying to distance myself from the cases that cover everything from divorce to adoption to child abuse. It can be intense at times.

The custody case, however, brings back a lot of memories. Of my own past. Not that my Dad wanted me when my parents divorced. But this case also stars a lying cheater like my dad. I try to keep it professional and look at all the facts in the case—thankfully, we represent the woman in this matter—but it’s hard. I know how our clients feel. I know how the kids in this case feel: abandoned, unworthy, full of blame.

Cheaters…they can all rot in hell as far as I’m concerned.

The morning quickly slides into lunchtime, and I’m still a bit edgy so I leave the office for Nicollet Mall to get some air. It does the trick immediately. I join the crowd weaving through the stands of the farmers market and take in the sweet fragrant summer flowers and sweet strawberries.

It makes me think of Foster. He loves to buy red potatoes and herbs from the farmers, Cold Spring asparagus, and artisan bread from French Meadow Bakery that always sets up shop at outdoor venues. I pick up a loaf of rosemary focaccia for him and head over to the taco shack.

With my fish tacos and ice tea, I grab an open table in front of Orchestra Hall. When it’s warm, they have small concerts on the plaza during the day. It is the epitome of summer—like a picture.

Pictures.

I wiggle my fingers in my cast; I miss holding my camera.

Looking around the scene, I scout out the best photo ops and begin taking pictures in my head. I spot an older man handing a huge bouquet of colorful flowers to a young woman—
click
. A little boy sitting on a curb eating a hotdog, ketchup running down his chin—
click
. Long, deft fingers plucking the base in the orchestra—
click
,
click
.

I can’t help grinning like a fool because I’m having so much fun. Photography is the one gift my dad gave me that I can still hold onto without being bitter. He bought me my first Canon. I think he was doing the typical parental thing—living vicariously through his kid. He wanted to be a photographer before he got Mom pregnant and was forced to settle down and take a stable job, like insurance sales. He used to tell me that taking a picture was the ultimate control. Photographers could capture the best pieces of life, or the worst, based on the moment they chose to click and shutter. They are the keepers of the truth.

I spend the rest of my lunch hour creating my own truth, clicking away in my mind.

Reluctantly, I drag myself back to the office.

Foster

The ride downtown to the law firm with Jules that morning is quiet, uncomfortable. The easiness between us is gone. Jules is biting on her fingernails and tapping her foot. My tension has once again been pushed on her. She’s always been like that, picking up on the mood of everyone else. She’s the most perceptive person I know.

I wish I could tell her how much I want to be with her. Hell, if it was my choice, I would’ve continued making her come all night. If she only knew the things I want to do to her.

Not much longer now, baby. Just hang with me a little longer.

I pull up to the D and D building and reach for Jules’ lunch. The lunch that isn’t there because I’m brain dead and forgot to make it.

“Shit,” I spit.

“What?” Jules leans over. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to make your lunch.”

“Oh,” she says as her face drops, almost disappointed. “No big deal. I can pick something up. There’s a sandwich shop in the skyway, right around the corner of D and D.”

“Okay.” I relax a little. I have got to get this shit squared away with Noah. Now.

“See you later,” she says.

“Yeah, I’ll be here to pick you up.”

I quickly walk around the car to help her with the door and her bags. My gut sinks when she doesn’t even look at me on the way out.

“Thanks,” she says in a voice barely above a whisper.

I jump in the car and hit the gas. With an hour to spare before I’m due into the restaurant, I don’t waste any time heading to Noah’s.

There are at least five open parking spots in his lot. It’s luxury. Man, life was easier when I lived here. We had some good times. The parties, guys’ night watching the game, and hanging out with Jules and Jenna before everything went to shit.

Even the hallway is a welcome change from the filth of my building. The carpet has lines left from a vacuum and the scent of lemon and vinegar still hangs in the air. When you live in a dump, trust me, you notice these things.

Once I reach the door to the apartment, I’m brought back to the last time I was here. The morning Noah kicked me out.

After I came clean about Jenna, Noah really did try to forget. Tried to forgive. I’ve got to give him that much. Plus, we were all dealing with the aftermath from the accident. It wasn’t a good place to be. We just co-existed in this place, both trying not to be home when the other person was, brushing past each other in the halls in silence.

That last morning, I was coming down from a major hangover. My head was pounding and my tongue thick.

Noah was waiting for me in the kitchen.

I poured a glass of tomato juice and grabbed eggs from the fridge—my ultimate hangover remedy—but Noah stopped me.

“Dude, I’m done with this shit,” he said.

“Okay.” I rubbed my temples. Christ, he was loud. “Exactly what shit are we talking about?”

“The fucking booze, Foster.”

Great, he was holding up a finger, ready to tick off my offenses. There was a list.

“You woke me up last night. Again. And there’s the chicks. The weed.”

I started to get pissed. I wasn’t doing anything he hadn’t been doing for the past year.

“Yeah?” I asked. “You sure we’re not talking about your extra curriculars?”

“Not anymore, dude.”

He was in his superior, my-shit-don’t-stink mode. No question.

“And you’d know that,” Noah continued, “if you were coherent for more than an hour at a time.”

“Okay.” I started to panic a little. I’d seen that determined look in his eyes before. Something bad was about to go down. “Calm down, I’ll lighten up. And if you don’t want me to bring chicks home, fine. I’ll go to their places. It’s no big deal.”