Stef Ann Holm by Lucy Back (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

with a client this morning, but he knew her better. Carefully applied cosmetics only hid so much.

Viewing the gray shadows beneath her eyes, it hit him—she’d probably tied one on. She liked to party on special occasions, and a birthday was a big deal to her.

He felt a moment’s regret he hadn’t made more of an effort to track her down last night. He knew her turning forty was a dicey event, one she hadn’t been looking forward to. She’d wanted to spend it with him, to make it memorable.

He wondered what she’d done, where she’d gone. And without him. A sharp feeling assaulted him, and he ignored the jealousy that rose, but quickly ebbed and faded to nothing.

“Come in,” she said, her voice low.

She stepped aside and he entered her well-appointed home. A color palette of black and green made up the entry and led into a very spacious kitchen. Jacquie decorated with flare, an occasional spot of red in a pillow or lamp to make a statement.

The house smelled like espresso and stale perfume, along with the stagnant odor of smoke. The large window above the granite counter and kitchen sink was open, but it didn’t do much to ventilate the air in the house.

On high heels, Jacquie walked to the breakfast bar and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. She knew he didn’t like her smoking around him. But he had no say-so in her home. And once in a while, he hated to admit it, but the smell of a burning cigarette was a temptation. He used to smoke many years ago, and the draw of a nicotine fix could sometimes flare up.

Knowing their conversation was going to get rocky and that she’d probably get histrionic on him, he was halfway to asking to bum one off her when she blurted, “I was unfaithful to you last night, so we need to end things.”

Drew held back, felt as if he’d been hit by a ball. He’d been prepared for one kind of pitch and didn’t see this knuckleball coming.

Folding his arms over his chest, he asked, “Do I know him?” It was all Drew managed to say.

“No.” Jacquie flicked her lighter to life, lit the cigarette and blew a stream of smoke out the crack in the window. “I don’t even know him.” Keeping her posture straight, she looked him directly in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Drew.”

The expression on her face was one of true regret, a tired gaze he almost didn’t recognize on her. She was usually so put together, so all-knowing.

He wanted to feel anger. Pissed off. Resentment. Something. But the emotions just wouldn’t come.

“How come you’re telling me? I doubt I would have found out unless you did it in public.”

“Give me more credit than that.” She took another hit on the cigarette, her face silhouetted by light from the window.

Neither one of them said anything for a long while.

The details of what had transpired with her and some other guy were inconsequential to him. That truth made him snort and think this really sucked. He’d come over prepared to break up with her, and she was breaking things off with him, and rather than feeling like shit about what she’d said, he felt relieved. How screwed up was that?

“We can’t pretend anymore,” Jacquie said, turning toward him. “You and I both know this has been a long time coming.”

“You’re right. Things between us haven’t been going too good lately,” he said, taking a seat at one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

His words put her on the defensive, as if suddenly the failure of their relationship fell solely on him and he was the only one to blame. “You think I didn’t notice?” she all but bristled.

“Hey,” he retorted, finally feeling the sting of her betrayal. The resulting heat of anger shocked him. She could say whatever she wanted about him, but he’d never once been unfaithful to her. And he’d had a lot of opportunities over the years. “You sleeping with another guy is not my fault, babe.”

“If you’d showed up, none of this would have happened.”

“I had a kid in the hospital!”

“He has a mother and you aren’t the father,” she sniped, her face contorting.

Her tone made his muscles tighten, and her high-and-mighty demeanor irritated him—enough so that when his cell phone rang, he answered for the distraction and just to annoy Jacquie while refocusing his attention. “Yeah?” he growled. “Tolman here.”

Dead silence.

“Hello?”

Whoever was there clicked off and ended the call. Drew didn’t have the desire to check the caller ID log.

Collecting his thoughts, he was quiet a long moment. This was an ugly way to end things, not the way he had envisioned. He had to own up to his part. He’d been distancing himself from her lately, doing his own thing when he knew she wanted to spend time with him. He found lots to occupy himself, wasn’t available to her when she called. She’d come to Opal’s—a sure way to run into him.

He knew this was coming, and now that he had a moment for a reality check, an unexpected sadness came over him. Three years was a long time to spend with someone.

He knit his fingers together, looked at his clean fingernails. “Jacquie, I’m sorry.”

And that’s when she began to cry.

And that’s when he felt slugged in the gut. But that’s when he also knew he couldn’t go backward. This was the old pattern. Her pushing, him pulling, her grabbing, him taking.

It was done.

“I’m sorry, too,” she uttered with a sigh, trying to stop the tears and get herself together. “I wish things had been different for us. I loved you, Drew…I still do.”

He couldn’t reply. He knew she wanted him to at least say he still loved her. But he didn’t.

Maybe he was a shallow asshole.

Since he said nothing, she pushed herself away from the counter and snubbed out her cigarette. “Can we remain friends?” she asked, her voice cracking.

He didn’t have to think about