The Lucky One
I was struck again by the thought that everyone in the world seemed to be good with kids but me. And how unfair was it that Jake Beckett was not only hot as sin and a wizard in the sack, but he was also nice to small people and fainting women?
What was I supposed to do with that?
We finally pulled into the driveway and I hopped out quickly to avoid any awkward assistance that might be offered. Seeming to need no invitation, Jake followed us inside and closed the door behind him.
I took a deep breath and firmed my back as well as my resolve.
“As you can see, we’re all fine. I appreciate your concern—and the burritos—but everything is under control. We’ll go ahead and get on with our day and you can get on with yours.” I held my hand out toward the door like some damn restaurant hostess.
“Uh-huh,” he replied and had the nerve to lean against the entryway wall and put his hands in his pockets.
What was this? Was he posing for a bachelor-of-the-month calendar?
I performed the hostess gesture yet again.
This time it received a grin.
“What?!” I demanded.
He looked me up and down. “Uh-huh.”
I became acutely aware of my attire and general appearance in that moment. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks.
My hair was in a messy ponytail and I was dressed in athletic shorts and a men’s t-shirt. I didn’t need to look down to know there was a ketchup stain on the hem and a dinosaur riding a bicycle on the front. I have no explanation.
I urged myself to ignore Jake’s look and not even attempt to interpret it.
This moment perfectly captured the reason all Jake’s texts and calls had gone unanswered over the past three weeks.
He wasn’t texting me.
He was texting the girl from the wedding.
The girl I’d pretended to be for one night.
The girl I would never be.
The one I couldn’t afford to be.
(Copyright 2017 Sylvie Stewart)