Somebody touches my hand. “Matilda, are you okay?” Owen asks, concerned.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just having a little daydream.”
He smiles, his eyes interested. “Really? What about?”
I suddenly realise he thinks I was daydreaming about him. Hmm, how to answer? “Nothing much, just memories.”
We’re interrupted by loud clapping, and I look inside the apartment to see Jay surrounded by party guests as he performs his complicated card tricks. He’s like a light, always attracting people to him. He gives them a bow and goes to grab a beer. Somehow his eyes meet mine and lock before focusing in on Owen’s hand on my hand. He swallows some beer. I look away.
Michelle has caught the attention of a twenty-something blond guy. She’s sitting on Jessie’s deck furniture and flirting with him. I nod to Owen, and he follows me over to join them, sitting close beside me. A minute later, I can practically sense Jay’s presence as he steps out onto the balcony, taking the seat directly in front of me.
Michelle laughs loudly at something the blond guy says, and I’m glad for the sound. It covers up the tension of Jay’s silence. What the hell is his problem?
“Hey, I saw you doing card tricks in there,” says Owen to Jay. “Is that a hobby of yours?”
Jay cuts his eyes to him, no expression on his face. “Nah, not a hobby. It’s my living.”
“Oh, wow, really. That’s great. Do you get much work out of it?”
Jay rolls his shoulders. “A bit.”
Owen finally seems to catch on to the fact that Jay doesn’t want to talk him, so he turns his attention back to me. “You know, Matilda, I really love your dress. Did I tell you how amazing you look tonight?”
Jay throws his eyes to the heavens, shakes his head, and knocks back a slug of beer.
“Thank you. I made it myself, actually,” I reply quietly.
“Really? I’m impressed. You know, I was so happy that you wanted to see me again. I was beginning to lose hope.”
Jay lets out a long, exaggerated sigh before muttering under his breath, “You could have called her.”
My eyes cut to him. “What was that?”
He gives me an innocent look. “Nothing. Did I say something?”
“Yeah,” I snap. “I think you did.”
“Well, I think you’re mistaken.” His eyes gleam, like he’s enjoying my reaction, like he’s goading me.
I decide to ignore him, focusing my attention on Owen. He’s looking between Jay and me, seeming confused by our sniping. I try to make conversation with him, get to know him more, but Jay sits there the entire time, making various noises to ruin the atmosphere. When Owen tells me he likes to play tennis, Jay snorts. When he expresses an interest in the history of the ancient Greeks, Jay starts chuckling quietly to himself.
In the end I get so annoyed with him that I jump up from my seat, the metal squealing against the floor. He’s being completely rude, and I can tell that Owen is upset but is trying not to show it.
“You’re…you’re being a dickhead,” I burst out before grabbing Owen’s hand and leading him away with me. Jay’s expression at my outburst isn’t shock or guilt; it’s satisfaction. He wanted me to get mad. Stopping when we get around a corner that leads from the main section of the apartment to the bedrooms, I put a hand on Owen’s shoulder and apologise profusely.
“I’m so sorry about him. I think he might be drunk.” Jay isn’t drunk in the slightest, but it’s the only excuse I can come up with for his terrible behaviour. Owen’s cheeks are red with embarrassment.
“It’s okay. I think I might call it a night anyway,” he says. “I’ve got work in the morning.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
“Nah, I should go. I’ll call you. We’ll do something else soon. Just the two of us.”
I smile at him. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” My smile is half-hearted, though, because I have a feeling Owen isn’t going to be calling any time in the near or distant future. Jay made sure of that.
He leans down and gives me a reluctant peck on the cheek, then a quick hug before leaving. I stand there, trying to tamp down my fury. I have a good mind to march right back out to Jay and give him what for. In fact, I think that’s what I will do.
Striding through the apartment and back out onto the balcony, I find Jay in the same spot I left him in. He’s lounging back in his chair, nursing his beer and smoking a cigarette. I stop a foot or two in front of him and fold my arms, my eyes narrowed to slits.
“The douche chef gone already?” he asks with a big grin, leisurely blowing out smoke. I want to smack the expression right off his stupid handsome face.