Love, Lessons, and Jealous Eyes

My love life was as dull as an old butter knife. Getting flowers from Bentley was the most romance I’d experienced in years. In my last relationship, I was bound to a cheater who wasn’t romantic at all.

We met in college. My dad really liked him. But Mom, she saw right through his veil that was oh-so thin. For five years I endured the endless trauma of nurturing, nourishing, coddling, and taking care of him.

He was verbally abusive. He drank a lot, and he never gave me any say so. And as someone who wanted to be an investigative journalist, staying quiet didn’t much align with me.

I’m an outspoken woman. I like to have fun. I love trying new foods and getting my nails done. I like a lot of things that all women like, but most of all, I like being treated like a lady.

My life changed after my relationship with Bret. I became a distant workaholic, sworn off men for the rest of my life. I said I would never get into another relationship, entanglement, or situationship. I wanted to be free and live my life the way I wanted to live my life. I didn’t want to have to worry about what anyone was doing behind my back. Or start over from scratch because things didn’t work out.

When the girls left my office that morning, I caught myself smiling over Bentley. Each time I glanced at his flowers, I became more interested. But he was off limits—a suspect in my investigation. A criminal. Reformed, but yet and still. Bentley was a bad boy that I couldn’t think about a future with.

“Thanks for the flowers. They’re very pretty.”

I texted him when I sat down at my desk. I had plans to ask him more questions about Ivy and his club, but when he replied, our conversation quickly detoured somewhere else.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady... that sounds cheesy, huh? I don’t wanna sound cheesy.”

It sounded very cheesy, but it made me laugh. I enjoyed how kiddish he was while still sustaining a notorious command for respect.

"When can I see you again?”

He texted again before I had a chance to reply. I was impressed because normally, I exchanged numbers with men who only knew how to text one thing: Wyd?

“You tell me. You’re the world class businessman.”

I left the floor open for him to decide. Time was ticking, and I needed some solid evidence for my pitch to Westlake News. I knew the anchor position wouldn’t stay open for long, and with the way Westlake P.D. operated, neither would Ivy’s case.

“I’m free later this week,” he replied. “That’s a little too far out for me, but I guess I can hold off a few days. Seeing you will be worth the wait.”

A large smile crossed my cheeks. My eyes rolled with embarrassment, and there were butterflies in my stomach. Bentley knew all the right things to say. How to not be suspicious and keep the heat from burning him. And the more he showed me, the further I leaned into the desire that brewed beneath the surface.

“Hm, someone looks like she’s in love.” Rodger startled me as he barged in and took a seat.

“Dammit, Rodger! Do you ever knock?”

“My bad, my bad.”

He kicked his feet up on the coffee table that sat in my office. The flowers weren’t too far away. I saw him glare at them a few times as he sipped his coffee, smirking as if he could do better. It was obvious that Rodger was jealous, and even more obvious that our relationship was going to get awkward.

“They’re from Bentley, right?” he asked. “I heard the girls yapping about after they left your office. Do they know that you’re working on Ivy’s case? Or are you all so caught up in the rapture that you forgot?”

“Rodger,” I huffed and rolled my eyes at him. “I don’t know what you think is going on, but I'm getting close to Bentley so that I can figure out what happened. Part of investigating is going undercover. And going undercover sometimes involves doing things you wouldn’t normally do. I don’t know about you, but I need this story.”

Rodger only shook his head. He didn’t need a story as large as a murder at Club Lure because he was content writing the same articles as everyone else. He didn’t mind not moving up the ladder. He didn’t need to because his parents were wealthy and only pushed him to get a hobby so they wouldn’t have to see him as often.

But not me. I wanted more. Both of my parents were high-ranking journalists, and my dream was to carry out their legacy.

“I know this story all too well,” he chuckled enviously. “Woman goes undercover. She starts falling in love with the guy she’s tailing. He finds out she’s a cop or whatever. He feels betrayed and kills her. If she’s lucky, the police or the nerdy sidekick will save her before it’s too late. It’s only then that she realizes true love has been in her face the entire time.”

The air was still between us. I didn’t know how to respond. Rodger’s confession was romantic but very out of place. When he stood to leave, I sat there, speechless.

“Look, Justine, I know we aren’t on the same page, but I do want you to be safe. We’ve known each other for three years now, and just because you don’t like me the same way I like you, we are still friends.”

“Yeah,” I smiled softly. “We are still friends. And again, I’m sorry that we, that I—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiled awkwardly. “There’s a time and place for everything. Who knows, maybe someday in the future we’ll revisit this conversation and I’ll be the one turning you down.”