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“I’m surprised you remember. Yes, I am close. And I am busy working on my paper, because it’s due in about a week. In fact, I’m also too busy to sit here and have you paw me with your eyes and try to make me throw up. Please, Jay, can you just get to the point?”
His face darkens, that familiar tension building in his jaw. But then that tense jaw reshapes itself into an unnatural smile; I’d rather he scream at me than force me to look at his tense-ugly face. "Then I guess I’ll hurry. I don’t want much from you, Emily. Instead, I’m more inclined to be generous, even though I know you’re seeing someone and trying your best to commit the greatest mistake of your life and move on from me, the man you really should be with, so I’m going to make this a very simple, inconsequential demand: I want you to have one drink with me.”
“What? No. You know I’m with Hunter. I’m not going behind his back and on a date with you.”
“Yes, I know you’re with Hunter.” There’s a quiver in his voice, anger barely constrained, that takes me back to darker times. After a sigh, he holds his hands up and puts a placating-disgusting smirk on his face. “It’s not a date. It doesn’t even have to be as friends, because I know you don’t feel so friendly to me. All I’m asking is that you sit down across from me, have one proper drink, and a brief conversation. That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. You don’t need to stay long. However long it takes for you to finish your first drink, that’s it.”
“Even if I order a shot?” I say.
He snorts. “Not a shot. For everything that I’m doing for you, I think the least you can do is order a real drink. Something that takes over two seconds to finish. Unless you’d rather test your luck at trial? You know it would be a felony conviction, Emily, and that means you’d be facing jail time, and it would fuck up your life even more than when you left me.”
“One drink, two minutes, that’s it? And you’ll make this disappear?”
I hate that I’m even considering it. But I have to, even if the idea of doing anything even close to a date with Jay has me weighing whether I just might prefer going to jail instead of spending time with the emotional equivalent of a rampant parasitic infection.
“Yes. I swear. I’ll even write it out and sign something, if that’s what you want. Listen, we can even do this thing a few nights from now — lets say five nights out, two days before your paper is due, in order to give you time to prepare, because I know you’ll probably want to work yourself up emotionally to deal with all the regret you’re going to feel over having dumped me — and that way I’ll have time to make them drop the charges before your due date, so you can have a clear head while you’re finishing your research paper.”
It’s tempting, tempting beyond belief, which is something I never thought I’d say about anything involving Jay.
But it is.
I want these charges gone, both for my sake and for Maggie’s. Even though she’s doing her best not to show it, I know they’re eating her up, too. The thought of someone as experienced and dedicated as her facing jail time and that she may have to start over from nothing after losing her career just makes me sick.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Jay's offer is almost too good to be true, which means it probably is. There has to be a catch, some hidden agenda I'm not seeing.
"What's the real game here, Jay? You've never done anything without an ulterior motive."
He leans forward, his eyes locked on mine. "Maybe I've changed. Maybe I just want to make amends for the past."
I scoff. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England."
"Look, Emily," he says, his voice taking on that persuasive tone I remember all too well from those times in our relationship where my resolution wavered and he’d convince me that he wasn’t the abusive monster that I knew him to be. "I know I've made mistakes. I know I hurt you. But this is my chance to do something good, to help you out of a tough spot. Is that so hard to believe?"
Yes, it is. But I don't say that out loud. Instead, I consider my options. One drink with Jay could solve all my problems. But it could also open up a whole new set of them.
"If I agree to this," I say slowly, "I want it in writing. A contract stating exactly what you're offering and what you expect in return.”
It may not be much, and I sure as heck doubt I could get anyone to enforce it, but at the very least, it could get Jay into a lot of trouble with his friends.
“Fine.” Jay reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded sheet of paper and then takes a pen from his shirt pocket. He hands both over to me. “Write whatever you want and I’ll sign it. We can even have the waitress sign as a witness, too. I don’t care.”
I write, he signs, the waitress signs — without even reading it, because I’m sure she doesn’t give a crap about us except for the fact that we’re occupying an entire booth and have only ordered one cup of coffee, which means she’s going to make almost nothing from us — and then I hesitate with my pen held over the spot where I’m supposed to sign.
This could be the answer to all my problems. This could free me from my worries and let me focus on my paper and then building a life with Hunter and Charlie.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
Yet since when does Jay do anything nice for me?
“One drink. That’s it,” I say.
“One drink. That’s it.”
I sign. It’s not as if I have much of a choice, anyway.
