Page 31 of The Quit List
Once again, I try not to notice the way Jax’s muscles pop as he leans forward on the bar, even through his long-sleeved shirt. The guy works out, there’s no doubt about it. Probably all the mountain-slash-wolfy things he gets up to.
I’m clearly not the only one noticing this either. From across the restaurant, Kara’s glare is sending absolute razor blades my way.
“Long night for you, maybe. Kara looks like she wants you alllll night long,” I sing the last bit off-key.
“Don’t change the subject, Lionel Ritchie.” We smirk at each other, and I realize this is the most fun I’ve had with a man over a drink in a very long time.
“Why not go out with her?” I ask, plucking a tiny straw from a holder on the bar and swirling it through my (untouched) scotch.
“If I answer that, you have to answer a question for me. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“I have three reasons.”
“Hit me.”
He holds up three fingers. Nice, long fingers. Big but not sausage-esque. “One, I’m not in the market for a relationship. Two, I don’t date coworkers. And three, I’m leaving soon.”
Oh. Points 1 and 2 seem valid.
Point 3 is… not what I was expecting.
I tilt my head. “Where are you going?”
“That’s a second question.”
“It is.”
“I’ve quit my job here, just have a few weeks left of my notice period. Then, I’m headed to the wilderness.”
Of course, he is. “Such an adventurous mountain man,” I tease. Then, for some reason, I add, “That’s cool, though. I wish I’d done something exciting like that when I was younger. Well. Not that, exactly. But like, gone on a cool adventure or something.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how true they are. I might not be missing the “dancing and kissing and flirting” stuff Aubrey spoke about. But I maybe would have liked to go on an adventure. Do something wild and daring and totally uncharacteristic.
Instead, for all of my twenties, I’ve just been plain, old reliable Holly.
Jax can apparently read me a little too well, because he rolls his eyes and says, “What? You think you’re old or something?”
“I’m almost thirty.” I say this like it’s a confession.
“So you’re twenty-nine. Only two years older than me.”
“Two years is a long time.”
Jax rolls his eyes. “My turn now, and I get two questions, too.” He holds up two fingers. “Question one. Why are you so intent on finding a partner?”
I freeze up for a moment as I try to figure out how to answer his question without telling him the exact truth. Which is that I’ve spent years wasting time on hoping for something with Dylan again, and in doing so, haven’t put much—any—time into dating and therefore feel like I’m well on my way to becoming that old, withered spinster Uncle Percival spoke about so vividly.
I’d like Jax to believe that he’s helping a regular, non-crazy, non-doomed-to-spinsterhood type of person.
So I swallow. Force what I hope is a calm, confident, breezy smile. “It’s… time.”
Jax’s eyes skate over me again. “Okay.”
Just that: Okay.
No demanding an explanation or laughing at me. He’s simply giving me an out, without (showing) an ounce of judgment, and with (barely) any questions asked.