Jay runs into her and Carlos

Another week and a half crawls by. I keep busy with my daily routines, working long days, even checking out gyms online with every intention of joining, but who’s got the time for that? And I do anything else I can come up with to stop focusing on why I ever bought the toys in the first place since that’s when she dropped off. It mostly works after a bit.

Except by Friday night I’m on a run, pulling up to a mid-scale Italian place downtown. The hostess points me to the waiting area and says the order’s almost ready. I’m leaning against the wall, burning time on my phone, when I glance up and see her.

Sofia’s standing near the podium with her back half turned, waiting to be seated. She’s not all glamour like that first night I saw her, but no less hot. Dark jeans are hugging her ass and legs perfectly with the seam cleanly dividing the two cheeks, and a lightweight black blouse that has a neckline showing off the top of her substantial cleavage. She looks incredible.

There’s no sign she’s seen me yet, and I know I should just grab the food and disappear, but even as my brain is saying I should step to the side and blend in behind a small group of people, my feet start heading in her direction instead.

I walk over, trying to stay as casual as possible. “Hey, Sofia,” I say, sounding almost nervous to talk to her.

She turns and the light expression on her face drops instantly. Her eyes widen for a split second, then starts searching the room like my childhood dog when it heard fireworks.

“Oh… uh, hi, Jay.” She sounds polite, but tense at the same time, and folds her arms across her chest. It takes no time before she’s turning slightly away from me.

I swallow, feeling like this is the only opportunity I’ll probably ever have to apologize to her. “All right, so, I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about that text. It was out of line, and totally inappropriate. I wasn’t thinking. I hope you can forgive me for texting you that last time, after you’d thanked me for the gift for Mateo.”

Her cheeks flush slightly, and she glances around again, averting her eyes, so they’re anywhere but on me. “It’s fine,” she says quickly. “Really, it’s okay. You don’t need to-”

“Yes I do,” I cut in, wanting her to know I really meant it. “I know it was weird. I just… yeah. I’m sorry.”

She nods, pressing her lips together in a tight smile that feels ****, and gives a couple of really small nods. With that, she angles her body away even more, one hip turned as if she’s ready to bolt. “Honestly, don’t give it another thought. I’m sure someone’s waiting on their food, though. You should probably get going so it doesn’t get cold.”

The dismissal is gentle, but unmistakable.

Before I can decide if there’s anything else to say, even a goodbye, the familiar figure of her husband approaches from the direction of the bar. Carlos is holding two glasses of wine when he comes over. He’s in tailored navy dress slacks and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and the way he carries himself says casually wealthy.

He’s average height, standing a little shorter than me, average build, making him only a little bit bigger than me, and just generally the kind of guy who would blend into a crowd unless he’s standing next to his wife. I only remember him from that one quick exchange when he smacked her ass in front of me, but on the surface, there’s nothing really significant about him.

He spots me instantly. I see him sizing me up from my face to the insulated bag in my hand, then to Sofia’s now flushed cheeks and how she’s averting her gaze. His expression is cold. There’s no outright anger, but it’s like it’s clear he doesn’t like his wife talking to me.

“Ah, if it isn’t the delivery boy,” he says, then turns to her. “The table should be ready any minute.” He hands her one of the glasses, then slips his free arm around her waist, pulling her against him possessively.

Sofia doesn’t resist. She only offers me another quick smile as he leads her away from me, but she doesn’t say anything else.

Neither does Carlos. He just meets my eyes for half a second, like he’s making sure that I see Sofia is his, then guides her toward the bar area where a couple of high-tops are open for waiting guests. His hand moves to rest above the pocket on the back of her jeans, dipping his pinky and ring finger inside it. The act feels very intentional once again.

I stand there like an idiot, watching them walk away. The dismissal couldn’t have been clearer if he’d said it out loud. I’m stuck waiting around for another two minutes before I’m able to grab the order from the hostess and head out to my car.

Whatever tiny thread I thought is there between Sofia and me just got cut clean. And Carlos has made it crystal clear that Dan had a much better grasp on this whole thing than I did.

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