Page 37 of The Comeback
I smile in spite of myself. “I don’t mind if you go back to hash out the game with Greg.”
She laughs and shoves at my shoulder. “I just might,” she threatens.
The spot where she touched my shoulder burns, but I ignore it. Letting myself get wrapped up in how I react to her touch won’t do me any good. I step away and reach for a cookie. Miss Maggie is lucky. There’re only a couple left.
“Whose idea was it to rescue me?” I ask as we head back to the table where my family and friends are gathered.
“It was a combined effort. I noticed you being detained; Miss Maggie came up with the story that she wanted the cookie.” Ava has settled into step beside me, far enough away that there’s no inadvertent touching as we walk, but close enough that her presence is almost suffocating me.
“Greg’s not too bad,” I say, forcing a smile at her. “Just … enthusiastic.” I think of how she said she was the one who noticed. Good. Hopefully this electricity snapping between us is as difficult for her to manage as it is for me. I kind of feel bad for wishing that on her, but it wouldn’t be a problem if she hadn’t left.
She shoves her hands into her pockets, tilting her head toward where Greg has settled at a table with a couple of the offensive linemen. They’re nodding and grinning at whatever he’s telling them, and I chuckle.
“You’ve got a great offensive line, and Greg’s probably letting them know that.” She watches, a small, warm smile growing on her lips. I spend a few seconds too long staring at them, and she catches me when she turns back. Her cheeks turn pink and she looks away. We’re almost to the table, and she hurries ahead to sit next to Gabriella.
I take a seat by Miss Maggie, teasing her about the cookie as I hand it over and then taking Ruby into my arms when she reaches for me from Devin’s lap on the other side of me. It’s everything I can do to keep my mind off Ava, sitting so near and yet not in the spot I always thought she belonged—next to me—but I have to try.
CHAPTER 22
AVA
Gabriella made sure I knew as soon as she hired me that she was going to squeeze as many fancy dinners as she could into the wedding lead-up. She has a thing for them, carefully curated from an obsession with Bridgerton, both the novels and the TV series, and a healthy addiction to the Bachelor franchise. When I’m not the one planning, I fully support it.
Tonight’s dinner is for the wedding party and their plus-ones. It’s supposed to be a fun, laid-back thing (despite the formal dress code) where we all listen to the music for the wedding and approve a final playlist for the DJ. I won’t have an actual plus-one for the wedding—I’ll be too busy for a real date—but it’s a nice excuse to invite Dalton to hang out. We’ve been texting back and forth the last week, but Dalton’s hanging back. He’s hinted we should get together but won’t come right out and say it. And I don’t blame him. Jett was always in the background of our friendship, in high school, in college—before and after the breakup—it makes sense that he’d be cautious, given that Jett is back in my life again. And considering what Dalton witnessed the night I found out I was allergic to avocados, he’s probably not sure what to think of our relationship. All I know is that I doubt Jett and I will be able to be friends like I thought we could that night. Not if he thinks I’m trying to break him up with Hayden out of jealousy. Not if this heat between us keeps building. I feel like it’s an all-or-nothing situation and Jett wants nothing.
Which my heart is finding difficult to accept, no matter how much I lecture it.
Tonight is also a chance for me to watch how Hayden behaves around Gabriella. If everything is chill, if they talk and can put what happened after college behind them, maybe I can trust that everything will be fine. I don’t feel good about her, though, especially after she replied with a laughing emoji to a critical but polite comment on her latest post with the councilwoman. I try to believe that if I stay ahead of things, it won’t be a repeat of what happened with Mrs. Page. I’ll be able to nip this in the bud in time.
When I walk into Colby’s dining room, I’m reminded of the last dinner I attended with Jett, and not just the uncomfortable conversation afterward. The way we kind of flirted as I set the table. Okay, maybe not flirted exactly, but the same easy, comfortable vibe from the night I was poisoned by an avocado. How close we felt when he asked me about the The Hope Sanctuary Alliance situation. If Gabriella hadn’t come in, if the conversation about Hayden hadn’t re-driven the wedge between us, it would have felt so nice to confide in him about that. Given how heatedly he reacted to learning about the online trolls calling into question my qualifications to plan Gabriella’s wedding, I imagine he would have said the same things Gabriella has all this time. I imagine I might have actually believed him.
There were times at the picnic when simple friendship felt easier for us, but the electricity that danced between us was difficult to navigate around, at least for me. I don’t know what to do with it, especially because I suspect Jett wants to ignore that it exists.
Or maybe it doesn’t exist for him at all. Maybe it’s just me.
Dalton hasn’t arrived yet when Jett gets there with Hayden. Good heavens, they make just as striking a couple in person as they do in the photos Hayden’s posted. Her dress is a simple knee-length number with a blouson top and draping dolman sleeves. It’s black and stunning in a way that only an almost six-foot-tall woman can achieve. I have no idea what Jett thought when he saw her, but my breath catches, and I ogle her for longer than is probably proper. I’m worried about moving my gaze to Jett.
As I should be.
His suit is tailored so well that the man could be walking down a runway. It’s jet black, like Hayden’s goddess dress. His shirt is pristine, and his tie is blue and black. Go Pumas. He never wore suits like this back in college. He had one from high school that his mom had bought him for his older brother’s wedding, but once Jett started training for college football, that one never fit quite right again.
He does not have that issue now.
If anyone’s wondering, I ogle him far longer than I did Hayden. Definitely not proper.
And Jett catches me.
When that man smiles … How did I manage to leave him? It’s like the sun itself is beaming around Colby’s foyer. Jett slides his hand down into Hayden’s—which dims the effect a little—and moves toward me.
Ever wonder how to make a five-eight woman in heels feel small? Have her stand next to Jett and Hayden.
“Ava?” Jett says when they approach. “This is Hayden Reid.”
He has a smug tone, like he thinks I won’t be able to help myself from liking this woman with her stunning dress and her delightful smile. And maybe I would have if I hadn’t read the way she subtweeted a Houston councilman a couple of days ago. He supports a local school district’s decision to vote down a book-banning measure, and Hayden tried to make her vague repost look sweet by adding a “bless his heart” in the mix. I know how Jett used to be about social media, and I doubt much has changed. His surprise that people were saying I only got the job planning Gabriella’s wedding because I slept with him says he doesn’t spend a lot of time on Instagram or other social media apps—I’m sure he hasn’t seen that side of Hayden.
“Hayden, so great to meet you.” I plaster on a smile and hold my hand out, and I’m not sure if I’m gratified by the way Jett’s smile slips when he recognizes how fake mine is. “Ava Lemmon.”
Hayden’s smile is all sweetness as she takes my hand and puts her other hand over it. “The ex,” she says with a cheerful but wicked gleam in her eyes.