The Sweetest Revenge by Lizzy Dent

Author:Lizzy Dent [Dent, Lizzy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2023-07-25T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-One

On the taxi ride home, it starts to rain, and we both stare out of our respective windows in silence. The London night swims by us in a blur of lights and noise, and I find the evening and its events have been overshadowed by an undeniable growing desire within me. For Jake. I wonder if his silence speaks the same to me.

It helped to have Jake beside me, and I reach across and squeeze his hand for the hundredth time.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he replies. “I had fun.”

“What did you think of him, then?”

“What did I think of Chris?” Jake ponders. “Hmm . . .”

“Yes. I’m dying to know,” I say.

Jake reaches across the back seat, lifts my hand up, and kisses it on the knuckles. “I think he wasn’t very pleased about me. And that he still likes you. Or wants you to like him. Unfinished business of some kind, I would say.”

I laugh and pull my hand from Jake’s, folding my arms.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “If you knew the circumstances under which we broke up. There is literally no way.”

“Tell me them,” he says as the car pulls up.

We climb out and I get the bill, although Jake tries to pay. “It’s my night. My expense,” I say, pushing his hand away.

We head into the building, and Jake suggests we sit in my apartment. “I’ve never seen it,” he remarks. I shoo him straight into the living room, swinging by my fridge to grab a couple of glasses and a chilled bottle of prosecco I’d popped in there from the night Maggie was here.

My living room has incredible evening lighting. A dim floor lamp and several other small LED fairy lights, which give the perfect evenly lit atmosphere for TV watching. My leather sofa looks well-worn, draped with a soft wool throw and cozy down-filled cushions. I put the prosecco on the little hardwood coffee table, which is strewn with copies of Variety, books, bound scripts, and three—three—half-finished coffees.

“How embarrassing,” I murmur, swiping clean the mess and shoving the coffee cups in the sink. I pop the cork and fill our glasses and take the seat across from him on the sofa, kicking off my heels. I feel the silk of my skirt slide against the top of my thighs, and the slight chill coming through my open window. But when Jake stands to close it, I tell him no. I like the fresh air and the sound of rain. He takes off his jacket, laying it across the wooden chair I use as a spare for guests, and sits next to me. We both turn inward so we’re leaning back on the armrests, facing each other. I pull my legs up and curl them the best I can.

Our glasses clink.

“To a great night,” he says.

“To a great night,” I say, and while we hold each other’s gaze for a moment, my heart flutters under his stare. There is a boyishness to Jake that is so playful.

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