The Truth About Sex & Surfing [Featured Story]

Chapter thirteen

Hailey couldn't breathe. All the air had disappeared out of the taxi and now she was sealed inside some kind of airless glass bubble. Trapped.

She'd really messed up this time, hadn't she? Dylan probably thought she hated kids now (and him), though the opposite was true. Crap. She'd totally overreacted, exiting like that. And if she hadn't done that, she wouldn't be in this taxi right now. And if she wasn't in this taxi right now, she probably wouldn't have picked up the phone... and heard Jimmy say these things that could now never be taken back.

"Please," Hailey begged. "Unsay it. Tell me you don't really--"

"I can't. Deal with it."

"But, but... you're mistaken. That's it. You're not in your right mind. You can't be."

"Sorry, Hail. But it is true. I really do love you."

"No, you're just under a lot of stress, what with Jenn and Sadie and the restaurant—"

"Don't be stupid. Of course I know what I'm doing. This isn't stress, goddammit."

Trust Jimmy to bark even when making a declaration of love, Hailey thought. It was true he sounded just like himself, only she still couldn't credit the words. "You're absolutely sure you're not having a nervous breakdown?"

"Hell no. Is that what you really think? Because if it is—"

"Or maybe you've been drinking?" she asked hopefully.

"If you ask me, Hailey, you're the one who sounds out of it."

"It's just... Jimmy, I'm in a cab. I've had a very strange morning already. I'm really sorry, I don't mean to be rude. But I'm not sure I can handle this right now."

"Too bad. I promised myself that this time I'd tell you, and so I'm gonna tell you. I'm in love with you, Hailey. You should come home. We could manage the deli together. Maybe be co-owners if that's what you want. The thing is..."

"Yeah?" she squeaked.

"I miss you. It's no fun without you."

And still, Hailey didn't want to believe what she was hearing. Couldn't believe it. Inside her head was a roar of noise, as if her every memory and belief was being put through a blender – one of those blenders so powerful it got its own late-night infomercial. She couldn't think even one clear thought. Stupid hangover. Stupid everything. She reached for her bracelet to twist it around like she did when she felt nervous – she could really use a crystal ball right now, and maybe her bracelet had the answer. She imagined some magic words appearing right after the inscription Liz had put on it. Like, What would the badass you do? It would hang up the phone and go find breakfast. Or: It would change its name and voluntarily join the Witness Protection Program.

Her bracelet wasn't there. Both her wrists were bare.

"Jimmy? Hold on a sec." She slapped her pockets, but she was wearing Dylan's board shorts, not her own cutoffs. And there weren't any bracelets strewn across the seat or the floor of the taxi.

Which could only mean that her bracelet was buried in the sand, next to (ahem) the Kama Sutra-like imprint of her body and Dylan's. Or maybe that it was, right this very second, glinting in the sunlight on his bedside table. Or on that chair where she'd found her cellphone.

She swore out loud. "Oh no. Oh god no."

"Okay, so you're mad. I get that."

"No, I wasn't—"

"You're right. I was the one who fired you. I know that. You want me to apologize? You want me to beg you to come back?"

Hmmm. An opportunity like that might just be too good to pass up. On the one hand, she was completely overwhelmed by these declarations, on the other... Well, Jimmy had never apologized for anything ever. And he really had helped her screw up her life, hadn't he? Wasn't this shambles she called her life just a little bit his fault?