Rebound Therapy (Rebound #1) (7 page)

I look down again and shrug. “Nothing,” I mutter.

“That’s not nothing. What were you just thinking, Jenna.” Amy has just pulled out her teacher voice, the one she uses on misbehaving students to get them to fess up.

I look at the uncompromising expression on her face now. She won’t let this go until I tell her something. I wrack my brain for something believable.

“Quit stalling and just spit it out, Jenna. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Well … I was just thinking about how much better the sex is with Brian,” I finally mumble.

“Ha! I knew it!” she crows, smacking my knee.

“What? How on earth could you know that? I never told you anything about either of them.”

“Jenna, it’s what you don’t say that speaks volumes. I’ve known you forever. I can tell when you’ve had good sex.” I blush again at her words. “Hey now, none of that. I know Tom’s the only other guy you’ve been with. I know you were in love with him. You guys had a great relationship. Just because Brian’s better in the sack doesn’t diminish what you had with Tom or what you were to each other.”

She reaches out and takes my left hand in both of hers. “You can’t do this to yourself anymore, though.” She starts wiggling the engagement ring off my finger. “You need to let go of the guilt and embrace life again. Put this and Tom’s shirt back in your memory box in your closet where they belong. You were starting to move on with Brian. It was a good thing. It was nice to see you leave the house and laugh and smile again.”

I nod. My finger feels naked again without the ring. She places it in my palm and folds my fingers around it. “I know,” I whisper. “I just—it’s just … hard.”

“I know,” she whispers back. We sit like that for a moment, her hands wrapped around mine holding Tom’s engagement ring. “Jenna, Tom wouldn’t want you to punish yourself for moving on. He wouldn’t want you to be lonely and sad for the rest of your life because of him. You’ve always been fun and full of life. Tom loved that about you. It’s been so hard watching you this last year. That’s why I dragged you out and made you meet someone again. I’ve missed my friend that smiles and laughs. I’ve enjoyed having you back the last few weeks. Can she come out and play some more?”

I smile a little at that last crack.

“Go wash your face and change your shirt and then we’ll plan what to do next.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

An hour later Amy and I are sitting on my couch again. I’ve showered and changed clothes. I put the engagement ring and Tom’s shirt back in the box on the top shelf of my closet. Amy ordered pizza while I was in the shower, and we’ve now mostly demolished our old comfort standby of a large double pepperoni with extra cheese. This has been our ritual since we were college roommates. Whenever one of us is upset or trying to get over someone or something we split this pizza and gorge ourselves. We usually watch a movie and follow it up with some ice cream, but tonight the TV is off.

Amy sits back, groaning slightly, letting her hand holding the crust of her fourth piece hang down at her side. “I’m going to have to go to the gym tomorrow,” she says, just like she does every time we do this. I smile at her around the large bite of pizza in my mouth.

Amy tosses her crust back in the pizza box on the coffee table in front of us. There’s one slice left alongside her crust. “Okay,” she says. “Time to make a plan.”

I swallow. “A plan?”

“Yes. A plan to get your love life back on track.”

“Must we?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Any suggestions?”

“You need to get Brian back.”

“Right. I’ll get right on that.”

“I’m serious, Jenna. He’s good for you.”

I sigh. “Yeah, he was good for me. But it’s over.”

“Why is it over?”

“I broke up with him last week, remember?”

She shrugs. “So?”

“So? He didn’t exactly seem thrilled about it when he left. He’s probably mad at me.”

Amy nods. “Yeah, he is. But he misses you, too.”

“How do you know? Have you been talking to him?”

“I called him last Saturday after I talked to you. And I’ve seen him a couple times at The Barrel Room.”

I shoot her a sly look. “You’ve been to The Barrel Room a couple times in the last week? Seeing anyone special I should know about?”

“I was checking up on Brian. And don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you right now.”

“Checking on Brian, uh huh, right. I’ll let it go for now, but don’t think you’re off the hook. We’re going to talk about the real reason you were at The Barrel Room once you’ve decided what I should do and brow beaten me into it.”

“I’ve already decided what you should do. You have to apologize to Brian and make him give you another chance.”

“Right, I’ll just call him up and say, ‘Brian, I’m sorry I dumped you after you watched me get called a cheap whore by my ex-fiance’s grieving mother in the middle of your wine bar in front of everyone. I didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s pretend it never happened.’”

Amy glares at me.

“Or, I know,” I continue, “I can say, ‘Sorry about being a psycho and pushing you away. Can we kiss and make up?’”

Amy laughs a little at that one. “The second option’s a little better,” she says, “but I don’t think he’ll go for that either.”

“Well, since it’s your brilliant idea, what do you suggest?”

“You’re going to have to make a big gesture. He’s pretty hurt and angry about your break up. He tried to tell you he loves you and you shut him down.”

I inhale sharply when she says that. “He told you that?”

“Yes. Did you really do that to him?”

I nod, not meeting her eyes. “Yes. I couldn’t let him say that … I felt so guilty as it was, about him and about Tom. As long as he didn’t say the words, I could pretend he was just a rebound guy like you wanted him to be all along.”

“Yeah, I did plan for him to just be a rebound guy. A quick and dirty fling to pull you out of your funk and hopefully get you to have fun again. I didn’t plan for you to fall in love with him.”

“What are you talking about?” I say, denial my first response. “I don’t—“

“Save it, Jenna. I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way you are when you’re with him. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you in love before. I know the signs.”

I close my mouth, still open from when she cut me off, and blow out a long breath. She’s right that she has seen me in love before. Am I in love with Brian? I’ve been so busy pushing away the niggles of guilt about Tom that I haven’t taken the time to examine my feelings.

“I don’t know if I love Brian or not,” I finally say slowly. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Okay, fine,” Amy says. “Let’s think about it. Do you miss him when he’s not around?”

“Yes,” I say automatically.

“When was the last time you were apart for more than twenty-four hours before this last week?”

I think back. “Not since we first started dating. After we went to the late showing of
Rocky Horror
and we fell asleep together we’ve seen each other every day until I broke up with him.”

“How often do you think about him?”

“A lot,” I admit quietly.

“Have you thought about him a lot this past week?”

“Yes.” My answer is reluctant and laced with guilt. I was supposed to be thinking about Tom this week, but I couldn’t keep my mind from straying to Brian and how much I miss him.

“Is that why you were torturing yourself with your engagement ring and Tom’s shirt? Because you kept thinking of Brian when you thought you shouldn’t?”

I nod once, not wanting to discuss it anymore.

“Isn’t it obvious, Jenna? You wouldn’t feel nearly as guilty about Brian if you didn’t have strong feelings for him. If you didn’t care you’d easily kick him to the curb and focus on your feelings for Tom. But you can’t.”

I lean back into the couch, silent, processing Amy’s words. I think about Brian all the time, even when I’m desperately trying not to. This last week has been a guilt infused torture fest because I felt like I was betraying Tom by caring so much about Brian that I forgot about Tom. Even when I got out all of my mementos from my relationship with Tom, looking through photos of us, reading old notes from Tom from when we first started dating, wearing his shirt all the time, and pulling out my engagement ring—something I hadn’t done since Amy convinced me it was time to take it off months ago. Even then I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about Brian. I wondered what he was doing, if he was flirting back with the women who came into The Barrel Room, if he missed me. I remembered dressing up for our second date, all the time we spent snuggled together, with my head lying on his chest. His laugh, his wicked grin, his kisses. Oh, God, his kisses.

My hand drifts to my lips as I remember how he kissed me—the teasing, light kisses, the long, slow kisses, the hot, hungry kisses where he devoured my mouth and led to devouring … more.

“Oh my God,” I finally say. “I’m in love with Brian.”

*

Amy doesn’t waste any time after my declaration. She grabs my hand and drags me to my closet, pushing hangers out of her way and shoving clothes into my arms.

“Come on,” she says. “We have work to do.” She moves to my dresser and starts rifling through the underwear drawer, coming up triumphantly with a matching demi cup bra and thong set. They’re burgundy satin, with black lace trim around the cups and along the top band of the thong.

I stop short and stare at what she’s holding. “I got that at my lingerie shower,” I say.

Her face softens a little, the look of determination falling away. “I know,” she says. “I got it for you.”

“I know.”

She resumes her determined look and says, “We can’t focus on that now. What’s past is past and you need to move forward. You need to go fight for your new man, and you need to dress for battle.”

I laugh at her overly dramatic view of what’s going on and arch my eyebrow. “Battle, huh? In a bra and thong?”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Well, obviously you’ll be wearing a dress, too.” She thrusts the underwear at me and then leaves the bedroom so I can get dressed in what she’s picked out for me.

It’s nearly seven now. Amy has decided that we’ll go to The Barrel Room so I can talk to Brian. I quickly strip out of my lounge pants and tank top that I put on after my shower an hour ago and slip into the outfit Amy picked out. In addition to the matching bra and thong, she picked out my black wrap dress with a plunging neckline, that displays my ample cleavage, made more luscious by the demi bra. Amy knocks on the door as I’m adjusting the neckline so my goodies aren’t on display any more than necessary.

Amy slaps my hands away and adjusts the fabric back how it was. “Stop that. You look fabulous.”

“Amy, the whole world doesn’t need to see my boobs.”

She smirks. “You’re not going to fall out,” she says in what I assume is supposed to be a reassuring way. “But if you want to win Brian back, you need to pull out all the stops.”

“He’s not like that,” I start to protest.

“Oh, please,” she interrupts. “All men are like that. And even if he’s less like that than other men, it can’t hurt anything to remind him what he’s been missing for the last week. Now sit.”

During her little diatribe she’s dragged me across the short hall to the bathroom and pushed me onto the toilet lid. “It’s time for your war paint,” she says and begins applying foundation. “Close your mouth,” she orders when I try to respond to the last thing she said. I decide it’s best to just be quiet and let Amy do my makeup.

The next half hour or so doesn’t feature much conversation, unless you count Amy ordering me to turn my head this way and that, close my eyes, open my eyes, and do all the funny facial expressions it takes to apply makeup. Anytime I try to talk she shushes me and gives me a pointed look.

“There, that should do it,” she declares with a final sweep of the powder brush across my face to set everything.

I get up and look in the mirror, taking in the full effect. My makeup is mostly natural, with lipstick just a couple shades darker than the natural dusky pink of my lips. The drama is all in the eyes. She’s gone with a smoky eye, using eye shadow that accentuates the green flecks in my hazel eyes. Amy smacks my hands away from my neckline again as I reach to adjust it, feeling more exposed than I’m used to.

“You’re gorgeous, Jenna. You need to own it. Quit messing with your neckline. You have great boobs. Show them off a little.” I drop my hands back to my sides at her mild scolding. She’s right, though. My boobs do look great in this outfit. I look sexy and sultry, with the black of the dress contrasting sharply with my pale skin.

I hardly recognize myself. Amy’s always been the one who cares about makeup and clothes of the two of us. I’d happily spend all my time with a bare face, my hair in a ponytail, wearing jeans and t-shirts. She drags me out shopping and makes sure I have other clothes, so that I look put together at work, and have cute clothes to wear when we go out. Not that I’ve done much of that the last year until she dragged me to The Barrel Room when I met Brian. She’s still made me go shopping with her, though. While I’m admiring my reflection, Amy has pulled out my large bore curling iron and started creating large, loose spirals that frame my face and hang down my back. I smile at her reflection while she works and she smiles back. The only reason I own a curling iron or this dress or my makeup is because of her and she knows it.

When she’s done I turn to her and say, “Thank you, Amy. For everything.”

She pulls me into a fierce hug. “Anytime, Jenna. I’ll happily kick your ass into gear whenever you need it,” she says, saving the moment from getting too emotional. “Now, I need to get ready, too. I’ll be your wingman. Or wingwoman. Whatever you call it, I’ll have your back. But if you’re looking like that, I need to raid your closet so I don’t look like a slob next to you.”

I laugh, push her toward my bedroom and head for the couch. “Help yourself. You got me all the best stuff in there anyway.”

Amy emerges forty-five minutes later rocking a sexy librarian look. She’s borrowed one of my black pin striped pencil skirts that I wear to work and paired it with a green silk blouse with a wide neckline that doesn’t button all the way up. I don’t wear it often because it exposes too much cleavage. Amy’s a little smaller up top than I am, so on her it looks sexy without crossing the line to trashy. She’s pulled her red hair up into a French twist and touched up her makeup to look a little more dramatic, though not as dramatic as mine. She’s wearing three inch black stilettos that she found at the back of my closet. She made me buy them on one of our shopping trips recently, but I’ve never worn them.