Also, on top of all of that, why does he care?

  “He went to dinner with his parents.” My brows furrow disapprovingly. “But you…you shouldn’t even be asking about him.”

  I hate that my voice shakes with nerves. I’d love nothing more than to match his boldness step for step. Usually, I can, but not tonight.

  He relents with an easygoing shrug. “You’re right. I shouldn’t. Enjoy the rest of the party.”

  He’s already backing away and my mouth opens like I’m about to plead with him to stay or maybe even apologize about cutting off his line of questions, but it feels necessary to keep the wall up between us. Safer that way.

  But damn…I wish I’d picked the reckless option instead.

  I wish I’d told him the truth: Jasper and I are almost certainly done as of ten minutes ago.

  Now why do you care?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Scarlett

  I give Jasper the benefit of the doubt about the party, but when I open up Instagram the next morning and see that he’s been tagged in a bunch of photos with friends from last night, I realize how done we really are.

  It’s one thing to skip out on the Halloween party to meet his parents for dinner. It’s a completely different situation to ignore my calls and ditch me to hang out with other people, most of whom I don’t even recognize.

  I know he’s been going out without me the last few weeks, and I haven’t been concerned about it. Just because I’ve been working around the clock doesn’t mean his life had to stop, but we let it go too far. We missed the chance to repair what’s damaged, and now, the thought of trying to slog through all this mess just doesn’t seem worth it. I don’t care about him enough to try, and that’s damning in and of itself.

  He finally returns my call later that morning, and I suggest we meet somewhere for brunch. He’s hungover when he arrives at the diner. I’m already in a corner booth working through my second cup of coffee, and before he apologizes to me for being late, he waves down a passing waitress and orders a cup for himself. His usually soft features are held in tight tension, like there’s a headache brewing just beneath the surface.

  When she’s gone, he sheepishly turns to me. “Hey.”

  He barely holds eye contact before he grabs the menu, and I’m kind of taken aback by his demeanor. I mean, I know I’m about to break up with him, but as far as he knows, everything is hunky-dory between us.

  “How was your night?”

  He nods, looking anywhere but at me. “Good, yeah. You?”

  His blond hair is a little disheveled, like he just rolled out of bed a few minutes ago.

  “It was fun. My parents asked about you…”

  “Yeah, same,” he says defensively.

  Right.

  “Didn’t you tell them I had my company party?”

  The waitress comes back with his coffee, and he thanks her before topping it off with enough cream and sugar that it’s about to spill over the rim.

  “Jasper?”

  “Yeah, I told them.” He has no patience for me this morning. “It just doesn’t really matter, Scarlett. They were disappointed you couldn’t make the time to see them, especially after what happened a few weeks ago.”

  This is getting a little ridiculous. “I think you’re being unreasonable.”

  “I don’t feel like arguing about this.”

  I swallow my retort as he rubs his temples.

  “Okay, I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever.”

  He still hasn’t looked at me.

  “What’d you end up doing last night?”

  He shrugs. “Just hung with the guys. We went to a bar in Uptown.”

  “Cool.”

  He doesn’t ask about the Elwood Hoyt party and I don’t feel like continuing to ask him questions about his night, so we revert to browsing the menu in silence. Once the waitress leaves with our breakfast orders, Jasper finally glances over at me, and I see the end is there for him too.

  It’s obvious to me now that everything I’ve been feeling in the last few weeks, he’s also been struggling with. In a way, I’m glad. Jasper isn’t a terrible guy. I’d prefer if our breakup was amicable rather than one-sided. It’s better for everyone.

  “Jasper…”

  He shakes his head. “Yeah, I know.”

  “I really needed you at that party last night.”

  “And I really need to feel like a priority for you.”

  I sigh.

  “It’s not just the work stuff. I feel like we could figure it out if that was the only issue…” He winces and shakes his head like he doesn’t want to go down that road.

  “I mean, I agree it doesn’t feel like we’ve been on the same page lately.”

  I’m trying to help him out, but he doesn’t look relieved. “It’s not really that. I mean, I guess it is…in a way.”

  I’m so lost.

  “Is this about last night? About your parents?”

  His eyes widen with horror. “No.”

  “Okay…”

  He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, mumbling, “Forget it.”

  That’s impossible. The more he doesn’t want me to know, the more I have to press. It’s human instinct.

  “I’m just trying to understand your side of it,” I say, trying to be helpful.

  He toys with the handle on his coffee mug. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Is it the time thing? Like I said, I understand how you might have felt like you weren’t—”

  “No, Scarlett. Jesus, just…I don’t feel like we mesh well together.”

  “What?”

  I resist the urge to add, Speak up. He’s talking so meekly. His shoulders are slumped and he’s leaned forward so that his mouth is aimed at his legs, not at me.

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s—”

  “It’s what?” I prod impatiently. “Just say it.”

  “I feel like we’re not compatible.” He looks up, resigned now. “That way, you know? I mean god, I hate to say it like this. I feel like a complete ass, but sometimes it just felt a little—”

  “What?”

  “Boring. In bed.”

  I freeze. Blink. Process. My anger drew the words from his lips, and I can tell he regrets them the second they’re out there, plunked down between us like a living, breathing thing.

  I feel the color drain from my face.

  Sex with me is boring.

  He’s been bored.

  I’m baffled enough that I don’t immediately do anything. I sit and I stare at him, trying to sort through this new font of insecurity he’s just dumped on my head. I’m boring in bed. Boring. BOREDOM.

  “I…”

  Nothing comes after the first word. I just let it dangle there before I start to scoot out of the booth in a trancelike state. I’m walking away before I realize I forgot my purse. I turn back and grab it, toss down a few dollars for my coffee and wasted breakfast, all while Jasper fumbles over his words, trying to reach out and take my hand. I won’t let him. He thinks I want him touching me?

  “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, Scarlett. That’s not what this is about. I just, I’d want someone to tell me.”

  Oh my god. He thinks he’s a hero! He thinks he’s doing a great act of service or something! “Someone had to tell her.”

  I close my eyes to try to push my anger deep down inside me. If he keeps talking, if he keeps digging himself deeper into this hole, I truly will lose it.

  “I get it, Jasper. Seriously. Say no more.”

  “You can just be a little uptight.”

  “Oh my god. SHUT UP.”

  He could have just let me break up with him over a short stack. We could have cut into our hash browns and plowed through some crispy bacon like civilized adults, but now I have about thirty years of therapy I need to be getting to, so if you’ll excuse me…

  “Scarlett,” he pleads as I walk away. He’s delusional if he thinks I’m turning back.

  God, all the things I could have offloaded onto him but didn’t. Every little annoying thing I buried for the sake of our relationship comes pouring in now that I’ve opened the floodgates. It’s all there, at the forefront of my mind.

  He never made me laugh. In fact, his personality kind of sucked. I was willing to dress him up with words like “kind” and “nice” and “respectful”, but in reality, he was barely any of those things. He was just quiet, which can sometimes be confused for other, better qualities.

  His relationship with his mom is weird. They talk multiple times a day. About what?! Why do you need to chat with your mommy that much, you adult man-child?!

  And his fucking hair. Guess what? It’s receding. Yeah. He’s going full-on Prince William, and I would have never ever made him feel bad about that or even CARED, but Mr. BALDING MAN, you don’t get to call me BORING IN THE BEDROOM while you have a literal crop circle on the top of your skull that I had to look at the ONE time you went down on me in our entire relationship.

  Oh my god. He and I were never going to work long-term. He wants to marry Annette Jr, a dutiful wife whose life goal is to wait on him hand and foot, who’s ready to pop out children and roll through the carpool line and play tennis at the club and Mahjong her day away. He masked it well, of course. He made it seem like he was worried about me surviving at Elwood Hoyt every time he suggested I rethink my career decisions, but really, it was always about him and his needs.

  I hate that I wasted a year on him, but then, that’s how it goes.

  Live and learn.

  Barrett is the first person I call on my way home, and he puts me on speakerphone with Nyles. I’m in a fog. Deep down I’m seething, but on the surface I’m oddly calm.

  “I broke up with Jasper,” I tell them, wanting to rip the Band-Aid off as fast as possible.

  Nyles’ response absolutely slays me. “Oh, sweetie, of course you did. You were never going to marry him. He’s blond.”

  I play dumb. “I’m confused.”

  “No you aren’t.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Also…can I just say, I saw you speaking with that man in the flight suit at the party last night, and I’m surprised you didn’t swallow your tongue. God, he was good-looking.”

  “Are you talking about Hudson?” Barrett asks incredulously.

  “Oh is that his name?” Nyles says. “He’s your rebound man, Scarlett. Mark my words!”

  I hang up on them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Scarlett

  In the two weeks since my breakup with Jasper, I’ve been kickboxing and working out more than ever. It’s my favorite form of self-care, and it’s convenient that the Elwood Hoyt building has a world-class gym that takes up the entire second floor. If my body allowed, I’d be there every day after work. As it is, I manage to sneak in a session with my trainer every other day during the week.

  Jasper never loved my preferred form of exercise, though of course he’d never outright say it like that. He always masked it with concern. The last time he brought it up was the night he brought Thai food over to my apartment, the night Moira attacked his leg.

  Apparently, I had a little bruise on my right arm.

  “Scarlett, I think you’ve taken the kickboxing thing too far. Have you tried Orange Theory? I just took my third class and I really enjoyed it. Also, my mom raves about her pilates studio. You could look into that?”

  I have nothing against Orange Theory or pilates or any other form of exercise people choose to do. I couldn’t care less. It’s just the fact that he couldn’t get behind what I love. A bruise on my arm is hardly reason to cut back.

  I’ve never felt as strong or as lean as I do on my current workout regimen, and I love feeling this way, like I have complete control over my body, like it’s powerful and fierce. Jasper never could understand that, but then again, Jasper is no longer my problem.

  He came and picked up what few things were left at my apartment, and we did that awkward second-breakup-after-the-first-breakup thing where he tried to apologize (and justify) why he said what he said at the diner and I had to pretend I wasn’t seconds away from unloading every angry thought onto him. Fortunately, I succeeded.

  Now, I run on the treadmill in the Elwood Hoyt gym, finishing up my two-mile cardio warm-up while I wait for my trainer to get here. We used to work out together at his gym before I started at Elwood Hoyt, but since it’s hard for me to make it over there with my current workload, he’s agreed to train me here instead. Unfortunately, I don’t think today is going to pan out. I check my phone to see he sent me a text while I was running.

  Jake: Had a trainer no-show for work today. I can’t leave the gym. Sorry. Let me know if you want to reschedule. This week will be hard, but I could maybe get over to you later next week.

  It’s a bummer, but I understand it’s hard for him to drive the thirty minutes just to train me when he has an entire gym to run. There’s probably someone else I could bring on, maybe another trainer he works with—though from the sound of it, he doesn’t exactly have people to spare at the moment.

  I step into the locker room to tuck my phone away with my purse and clothes, and then I head back out into the gym. Hudson is here, by the weights.

  He comes as often as I do, though our days don’t always sync up. (Not for lack of me trying, by the way.) I’m not ashamed to say I would rework my entire schedule for the pleasure of seeing that man work out. He’s not a gym rat. Picture: overly buff dude mainlining testosterone while wearing a two-sizes-too-small tank top that for some inexplicable reason has huge gaping arm holes??? No, no. Hudson usually pulls from a variety of old college t-shirts or concert shirts. So far I’ve seen Dave Matthews, the Grateful Dead, and Foo Fighters. We love a man with taste! Along with these, he usually wears Lululemon shorts and, if the gym gods decide to bless me that day, a backward hat (sob).

  The gym rules as of late are as follows:

  - We do not acknowledge each other.

  - If we do accidentally get in each other’s way, Hudson pretends I don’t exist.

  Once, I was coming out of the hallway that leads toward the locker room while he was coming in, and I almost ran smack into him. He grabbed my shoulders and brushed past me, saving me the embarrassment (and pleasure) of squashing my cheek directly into his hard chest. I know his chest is hard because while his t-shirts aren’t tight, they’re tight, you know?

  I don’t know why these rules exist for us, but they’ve been especially in play since the Halloween party. In fact, I rarely see him in the office. Sophie’s kept me plenty busy, and Hudson hasn’t gone out of his way to pull me in on any spicy deals or mergers. It’s a bummer considering how much I’d love the distraction right now.

  I only really have work to keep me occupied at the moment. My social life has dwindled down to nothing. I’ve had dinner with my parents a few times. Last weekend, Nyles and Barrett dragged me out with their friends and it was a lot of fun, but I’m still just adjusting to this new life and the title I now have to endure: BORING IN BED.

  There is no getting over that comment, by the way. It’ll be with me until the end of time.

  I head straight for the punching bags hanging in the corner near the boxing ring and work through a circuit my trainer usually puts me through that incorporates strikes and kicks alongside jumping jacks and crunches. After, I pull three-pound weights off the rack.

  It’s fine. I mean my heart rate is up and I’m sweating down the front of my black sports bra, but when I’m done, I still head for the punching bag.

  My dad bought me pink boxing gloves for Christmas last year, and my mom had them monogrammed with my name in curly script. I love them and use them every chance I can get.

  I rear back and punch the bag, right-left-right, trying to remember to use the proper form Jake is always drilling into my head, then I freeze when I sense someone behind me.

  “Want to get in the ring?”

  I turn back to find Hudson standing there, sweaty and hot in his black t-shirt. No backward hat today. His hair is a shade darker near his temples, damp and slightly unkempt. There are pronounced veins in his arms. He’s clearly been working hard over there with the weights.

  With my AirPods in, I’m not sure I heard him properly. I take them out and ask, “Pardon?”

  He nods toward the empty ring. “Want to join me?”

  I laugh. “Hilarious.”

  His face gives nothing away. “I’m serious. Come on.”

  “Isn’t it against company policy?”

  He tilts his head like he’s not quite getting it. “To work out together?”

  “For me to kick your ass on the premises…”

  Now this makes him smile.

  “That’s cute.”

  “I’m pretty good, you know.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you with your trainer.”

  Nothing fazes him, does it? “But you think you’re better?”

  He doesn’t answer that. He walks over to the empty ring and holds the elastic rope down so it’s easy for me to crawl up and onto the mat. Then he follows after me.

  I go to one corner and adjust the Velcro around my wrist. “I’m serious, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He looks at me with unabashed amusement. “How about I promise to tap out if you’re hurting me?”

  “Fine…” I arch a brow. “What are you proposing?”

  “A little light boxing. You attack, I’ll parry. I don’t have my gloves with me so we can’t get too carried away.”

  Is that warning for him or for me?

  This sort of game is nothing I haven’t done with Jake. It’s usually the last thing we do at the end of our sessions, mostly just to goof around. It’s really fun though, and not only is it good exercise, it’s also a good lesson in self-defense.

  I’m no expert when it comes to actual boxing strategy. I’m not like a secret black belt, but I’ve memorized the key areas my trainer has drilled into me, so I go for those places. The thing is, though, for such a big guy, Hudson’s faster than I thought he would be.