Page 82 of Gilt

“Oh my God, what is stopping you? Is it that stupid checklist of yours?”

What is stopping me? Jameson has proven to be nothing short of perfect. Well, he might be a little controlling, but it’s not like I’ll put up with that shit so it hardly matters. “No,” I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure he’s hit all the requirements.”

She grabs my hand and squeezes it so tightly that she nearly breaks a finger. “Even love?”

Fuck a duck, that’s a big one. Even though I’ve never written down all the requirements I had for my second time, love has always been at the very top.

“It’s a simple question,” she prompts me.

Am I in love with Jameson West? I haven’t felt like I’ve been falling for him so much as hurtling with him for the last few weeks. But doesn’t the fact that I didn’t hesitate when she asked if he met all of the requirements mean something? The problem is neither of us has actually said it. We’ve tossed the term around, trying it on to see how it sounds, but we haven’t gotten to those three little words.

“You’re in love with him,” Josie says it for me.

“I don’t know, I mean...” I stammer as I try to think of a way out of this subject. But as the first sliver of sunlight appears on the horizon, everything becomes illuminated. “Yeah, I am.”

Josie, for her part, is practically seizing in the bed with excitement. The realization just makes me feel nauseated.

“What if he doesn’t love me?” I ask her in a quiet voice.

She abandons her mattress jig and props herself up on an elbow, wagging her finger at me. “I’ve seen how that boy looks at you. He’s been waiting at the love party for you to show up for a long time.”

“He hasn’t said it,” I tell her.

“Who cares if he says he loves you? He shows he loves you. It’s a lot easier for a guy to say I love you than to prove he means it. Trust me.”

And I have to because of the two of us, she’s the one who knows.

Neither of us can fall back asleep so we get dressed quietly. I borrow a light cotton t-shirt and a pair of cut-offs from her when I realize my bags are full of unmatched outfits. At least I grabbed underwear.

“Maybe we should swing by your house?” she suggests. “You could grab some stuff.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and look for an excuse, but she’s right. Josie and I aren’t exactly built the same way, which means our sartorial overlap is limited. Going home means I might run into my dad, though. The last time I saw my father was a bit of a jumble. I have a faint memory of him visiting me in the hospital after the accident, but I was too drugged out at the time for it to count. Going back home, even to retrieve my belongings, might send the wrong message. After what Hans did, Dad looks better in comparison. But it doesn’t undo what he did.

“Okay, spill,” she demands when I remain silent. “What happened between you and your dad?”

I thought my fight with him was the low point of that evening until things got much worse. I’d been in no shape to tell Josie about it, and from the time I wasn’t on a perpetual dose of opioids, I’d wanted to forget that it had ever happened.

But you can’t crash in your friend’s bed indefinitely without giving up the goods. “He found out about Jameson and me.”

“Oh, shit.” Josie freezes and gives me her full attention leaving one eyebrow unlined. “I’m guessing he didn’t take that well. Did he kick you out?”

I shake my head. That would have been far less complicated. “No, he tried to start a fight with Jameson, and I got in the way.”

“What are you saying?” Josie asks slowly. She’s starting to put the pieces together, but she’s still going to make me say it.

“He hit me—punched me to be precise.” The nonchalant attitude I’m going for is completely undermined by the way my voice cracks when I say it aloud.

“Oh my God, I’m going to kill him.” Her tone rises to an octave somewhere between shrill and ear-splitting.

I wave my hands frantically before she gets too loud and wakes up her mom. “He was aiming for Jameson. I jumped in front of it.”

“That doesn’t make it right, Em.”

“Agreed.” She doesn’t have to tell me that twice. “But it’s also not abuse, so don’t even think about calling him in.”

“You mean like he did to your boyfriend? Did Jameson pummel him before or after he hit you?”

“After.” Admitting it is cringe-worthy.