Page 47 of Practically Perfect
“I know,” I reply quietly, pulling my legs to my chest. “I feel dumb and naive for letting it go on for so long. For always portraying him as the perfect man to my mom and friends. Notrealizing I deserve more.” I let out a small sob, burying my head in my knees. Jake scoots closer, wrapping his arm around me and holding me as I shake. “I spent five years of my life blaming myself for his shortcomings. Convincing myself that I wasn’t good enough for him. That I’m not good enough for anyone.”
“Don’t put yourself down.” Jake turns to face me, lifting my chin with his fingers. “You should be the most important person in your partner’s life. Nothing should come before you. No exceptions. That’s the bare minimum you deserve.” His steel-blue eyes peer into mine. “Any man who can’t give you that isn’t worth a second of your time. Doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as you.”
My mouth parts slightly, my brow crinkling. He sounds so confident in how he sees me. It’s so at odds with how I feel about myself and the insecurities I have about my future. “What if no one ever loves me again? What if I end up alone?”
“Oh, Kate. That could never happen.” His eyes soften. “You’re the type of woman any man would be lucky to have in their life. I’m sure there will be a line of men at your door once you’re ready to date again.” He gently brushes a strand of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
My hand flies to my mouth as I laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“The thought of men lining up to date me, considering I never had a boyfriend until Brian.” I shake my head and arch my eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find love again, but it’s sure as hell not going to be from a barrage of men chasing me.”
“We’ll see about that,” he teases, a wicked grin growing across his face. “How about we make a deal? A way to ensure you don’t end up alone.”
My eyes narrow, suspicious. Making a deal with Jake can be dangerous. Almost every reckless decision in my childhoodstarted this way. “I’m listening,” I reply, unconvinced it’ll be a good idea and yet intrigued to know what he’s proposing.
“Super simple. If you don’t find love by the time you’re forty, we get married.”
I erupt with laughter.He can’t be serious. Jake and me? That’s ridiculous. We’re barely back to being friends. What is he even thinking?
“What’s so funny?” he questions, pressing his lips into a thin line and intently staring at me.
“Seriously? Where do I begin? How about the thought of you getting married in the first place?” Another small laugh escapes my throat. “Let aloneto me.”
“I can see myself getting married one day—to the right woman. I’d do anything for the right one,” he says convincingly, locking his eyes on mine for a few seconds before looking away and changing the subject. “Do you want to mope around all night, or would you like to have some fun?”
“Mope. I don’t want to be around anyone,” I croak, covering my face with my hands.
“You won’t have to hang out with anyone but me. I’m thinking we go old-school. Binge on junk food and consume one too many alcoholic beverages.”
My face lights up at the thought of eating my feelings. It may not be healthy, but it works like a charm every time. “You had me at junk food.”
“Put your shoes on and meet me in the truck,” Jake says, standing and pulling me off the couch. “And this conversation isn’t over. You owe me an answer about my proposition.”
thirty
As Jakeand I peruse the grocery store aisle, we haphazardly throw items in the cart like we’re a couple of children gone wild. A hodgepodge of our favorite childhood snacks: Twizzlers, Double-stuff Oreos, Cool Ranch Doritos, and Chewy Chips Ahoy. We’re going to overindulge tonight; my stomach can hate me tomorrow.
“Chewy SweeTARTS. Yes or no? They’re not technically the same ones you loved growing up, but I vividly remember your obsession with anything sweet and sour,” Jake says, holding a bag of candy over the cart. “You were the weirdo who traded chocolate for SweeTARTS at Halloween.” He shakes his head, letting out a small laugh.
“SweeTARTS are a top-five candy. In the cart they go. Might as well get two bags,” I reply, feeling drastically better than I did an hour ago. Jake always had a way of bringing me out of my shell. Helping me find the light in the darkness. Putting a smile on my face.
“What about M&Ms?”
“Is that a serious question? Immediate yes. Don’t forget the popcorn!” I focus on evaluating the rest of the candy aisle asJake heads down the next one. “Get extra butter!” Jake chuckles as he turns the corner. I throw a few more bags of Jake’s favorite candies into the cart before heading to find him.
At the end of the aisle, I pause, watching Jake in front of the popcorn section, intensely looking at his options while two women in their mid-twenties gawk at him. Full-on staring, mouths open, eyes wide as if they’ve never seen a man. A flush of heat rises up my neck, and my stomach twists in knots as they stare at him. Like he’s a piece of meat. When he’s so much more—an amazing man and friend who also happens to be gorgeous even when he’s wearing a pair of jeans, a dark gray T-shirt, and an old baseball cap pulled down low, casting a shadow over his face. He shines with effortless cool. No wonder women ogle him wherever he goes. And he’s completely oblivious to it.
I shake my head, pushing the cart in his direction, realizing I’ll eventually need to jump back into the dating pool. Hopefully someone finds a woman in a ratty lounge set, hair piled in a messy bun, and a puffy face to be attractive because that’s what I’m rocking tonight. The complete opposite of the polished style of the two women currently eye fucking Jake. They’re probably his type. Rumor has it, he prefers blondes.
Just another reason I didn’t bother to answer his absurd suggestion that we get married if we’re both still single at forty. He doesn’t need a backup plan like I do. He has a bevy of women fawning over him everywhere he goes. If he wanted to, he could easily find a wife at any time. His offer was merely to make me feel better as I spiraled about ending up alone.
“Have you noticed those two women checking you out?” I whisper, walking side-by-side with him and pushing the cart. I glance in their direction as one of them takes out her phone, attempting to capture a photo of his ass. At what point does this become sexual harassment?
“Not really,” he replies casually. “Where should we go next? Frozen foods, then alcohol?”
“I don’t see how you don’t notice it. They’re not being discreet about it. One of them about gave herself whiplash checking out your ass.”
