Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(17)
Author: Monica Murphy

“Before you—leave, let’s try to do that, okay?” When I don’t say anything, he continues. “Let’s try and talk? Catch up with . . . everything? I feel like I don’t know you anymore, Jen.”

He doesn’t. There’s too much I don’t want him to know. That’s why we don’t talk.

“Sure. We can catch up. Sounds great.” I sound flippant and I see the hurt in his eyes, but I ignore it.

We’re always hurting each other rather than facing the truth. It’s just easier that way.

“So you’re going to Sacramento on your day off?” Fable asks the question innocently, but there’s a motive behind her words. She wants to know if I’m really going through with this.

And she’s ever so hopeful I’ll back out and say I’m staying. Too bad I’m going to disappoint her. After what happened earlier, I know my leaving is the right choice. I’d rather be anonymous than deal with those sorts of confrontations.

Offering her a firm nod, I steadily count out my cash tips. It’s our nightly ritual, where we all sit around a few tables and tally up our take for the night, then each of us puts in enough for the busboys and the hostesses. “That’s my plan.”

“How are you getting there?” Another innocent question, and this one I don’t have an easy answer to, since I don’t own a car.

Yeah. I really need one. It’s the first thing on my list of what I need to function when I’m on my own. “I was hoping I could borrow Colin’s car.”

Fable bursts out laughing, the wench. “Yeah, right. He doesn’t want you to leave and you really think he’s going to let you drive his fancy-schmancy car alone to Sacramento? You gotta be kidding.”

“I have my license. I know how to drive a freaking car,” I say grumpily, stacking up the one-dollar bills. Tonight was good, the tips were plentiful, and I’m thankful for every dollar I count.

I need all of them, since I’m going to be living on my own and paying all the bills that come with independent living.

“In the big city? Come on, small-town girl. You’ll probably freak with all the traffic. And isn’t that car of Colin’s his precious baby?”

For a person who tried her hardest to plan this move thoroughly, I’m looking like a complete idiot right about now. “Fine, you can drive me.”

“I work that day. I already checked the schedule.” Fable shrugs. “And I don’t own the truck, Drew does. We only have one vehicle and if I’m not using it to run Owen over to practice, Drew’s driving to his practice or dropping me off at work or going to school or . . . whatever.”

Crap. I’d love to do this by myself. I don’t want to be dependent on someone else. I wish I could rent a car but I don’t have a credit card and there’s all these rules about using your debit card and have to have a certain amount in the bank account. It’s too complicated and not like I always have extra money floating around in my account. I’m saving to get out of here, not blow it all on a rental car. “I wonder if anyone else would take me . . .”

“Seriously? I thought you had this all planned out.” Fable turns to look at me, her expression incredulous, and I immediately feel about two inches tall.

“I never thought about a car and that’s such a huge expense . . .” My voice drifts and I’m overcome with embarrassment. I’d been living in my car when Colin found me, but it took a total dump right after I moved in with him. He helped me sell it for parts and I made a whoppin’ two hundred bucks.

What the hell was I thinking, giving Colin my notice so soon? I mean, I know what I was thinking. He’d pissed me off so bad that I blurted out I wanted to quit, which I’d been planning to do all along but with at least a little more finesse . . .

God, I really screwed it up. To come to him now and say, “Hey, give me a few more months, I need a better plan” would be way too humiliating.

But how am I really going to make it on my own?

“Hell yeah, it’s a huge expense. You spent money on a tattoo yet you didn’t think of saving money for a car? I don’t get it.” Fable shakes her head, her disapproval ringing clear.

I reach for my neck, rubbing at my mostly healed tattoo. She’s making me feel like a complete failure at life. And all of her criticism is also making me quietly furious. Since when does Fable have the right to judge me? “We make our own choices, you know? Not all of us know how to take care of ourselves perfectly.” Like you supposedly do, I wanted to say.

But those last four words are certainly implied. By the shocked look on Fable’s face, she knows it, too.

“I never said I know how to do things perfectly,” she says defensively.

“You don’t have to.” I toss my money for the hostess and busboy that were on duty tonight into the center of the table and stand, ready to get the hell out of there.

“Jen, wait,” Fable calls, but I ignore her. She’s got her shit together, has her perfectly gorgeous boyfriend/fiancé, a decent job, and a brother who’s on the right track. Yeah, so her mom sucks and her dad is invisible. Yeah, so Drew has his problems, but come on. He’s a star football player probably on his way to the NFL, he’s loaded, and he’s madly in love with her.

I’m alone, living with a man who won’t admit there might be something between us. Or worse, he feels absolutely nothing for me and this thing I think is happening is totally one-sided. Oh, he lusts for me. I know that. But there’s nothing else.

Nothing. Else.

Now I’m stuck having to leave when I’m not close to being prepared. What if I don’t find a job? What the hell am I doing?

Whose fault is this anyway, you moron? That’s right—go look in a mirror and check out your reflection.

I exit the restaurant through the back door, ending up in the alley. No one’s out there and I plop down on an old chair, tilting my head back with a low sigh so I can check out the brilliant night sky.

Colin will be waiting for me either in his office or out front. Everyone else will leave through the main doors as well. I can find a few minutes of peace by myself.

Or mull over my absolute failures in life at the mere age of twenty-two. Could I be any stupider? It’s one thing to dance and strip on a stage for a living. Letting men stuff dollar bills down my G-string, trying to cop a feel—it was horrible, but I did it for the money. Lots of women do.