Page 55 of Filthy Rich

“He didn’t say he’s busy with her,” I say. “Maybe it’s something else that’s come up, and?—”

“Jake’s really simple,” Bea says. “Think of him like a river. It flows downward. If he said they chose her and then he said he’s busy, it’s with her.” She looks ready to rip something—or someone—in half. “I swear, I should have warned you off from the start. I’m going to have to kill him, and. . .” She turns toward me and meets my eyes. “I’m going to miss that jerk after he’s dead.”

She’s such a crazy person. “You aren’t killing Jake, even if he moves on. I always knew we were unlikely to be a long-lasting love connection.”

Bea grabs my hands. “But you were excited. I could tell. You liked him, and you’re a hundred times better than he deserves, and just. . .ahhh!” Bea’s shouting on the sidewalk, and people are starting to stare.

“Let’s order some delivery and change into pajamas and watch another romantic comedy.”

“Yes!” Bea’s nodding with some real energy. “Any movie you want.”

“Great,” I say. “Let’s do How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.”

“I love Kate Hudson,” Bea says. “Let’s do it.”

“You love Kate Hudson?” I snort. “I like Matthew McConaughey.”

“I mean, yeah, but saying that now that I’m engaged sounds weird.”

“You don’t have to say, ‘I like staring at his pecs,’” I say. “You can just think he’s funny, cute, and a little strange.”

“He actually is a pretty odd guy.” Bea’s eyes widen. “Or so Jake says.”

“But he’s a movie star. Aren’t they all a little strange?”

Bea laughs. “I guess so.”

On the way home, she tells me stories about Jake as a kid, most of them involving some strange behaviors for a kid his age. Or, anyone, really.

“He ironed his underwear?” I can barely believe that.

“I know he seems like he’d be messy,” Bea says. “And he does take up way too much space, but he’s actually really fastidious with clothing and stuff. He only did that for a year, but he likes things to be crisp and clean.”

“Better than him being a disgusting slob, I guess,” I say.

“Like you?” She’s grinning, though, so I know she’s kidding.

By the time we get back to the hotel, and our takeout arrives, and we’ve got the movie queued up, I can’t keep myself. My finger’s hovering over the keyboard of the laptop, but instead of hitting play, I ask, “Do you think Jake likes May? He said her show was great.”

“Oh.” She drops her chopsticks and meets my gaze. “Well, he watches it sometimes,” Bea says. “He does like it, and her too, I think. But I don’t think he likes her like that.”

It’s easy for Bea to say that.

Her boyfriend isn’t out right now with his new costar, who happens to be cute, kind, and accessible, while still having flawless skin, shiny white teeth, and a proportioned figure that would make Angelina Jolie jealous.

I have a really hard time focusing on the movie, even though I really like it. I just keep thinking that as cute as Kate Hudson is, May Markson’s even cuter. And as pouty and flirty as Kate is, May’s even more enticing.

Ugh.

I always felt like Dad had some culpability in my parents’ break up. Yes, Mom shouldn’t have gotten carried away with her role in the play or whatever, but Dad blew it out of proportion, too. He could have done more to make her feel seen and special. He could have tried harder to make her happy.

I resolve not to do what my dad did. I won’t assume the worst about Jake. I mean, we’ve been on one date so it’s not like he owes me anything, but I’ll assume he likes me until I see that’s wrong. I won’t ruin this with my own insecurity.

That night, it gets harder and harder to stick to my guns as I toss and turn. I dream, when I finally do sleep, of Jake kissing May, over and over.

Ugh.

What a horrible night.