Page 113 of Good For Me

“Brie and my cousin went to Club Rogue the other night,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.

River releases my hand. “Ah.”

I shift in my seat to face him. “Were you going to tell me you quit?”

His jaw clenches. “Yes.”

“So why didn’t you?” I try to tell myself I have no right to be so upset. It’s not like we’re married or living together. He’s allowed to make whatever decisions he wants about work. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that this spells bad news for us.

“Because your uncle’s bar caught on fire and you lost your home,” he says tightly. “And then we slept together, which is something I’d been wanting to happen for a really long time, so I was trying to let myself just enjoy that for two fucking seconds.”

He’s pissed. I can hear it in his voice. I think he might be hurt, too. Guilt nudges at me and I swallow hard.

“It’s none of my business,” I say softly, turning the other way and fixing my attention on the dark streets instead of his stormy face. “Sorry.”

He curses under his breath. Then he’s pulling over and putting the Jeep into park even though we’re very clearly nowhere near his house yet. “What are you—”

But he cuts me off, turning fully in his seat. “Of course it’s your business.” He sounds even angrier, like he’s offended I would even think it didn’t have anything to do with me. “We’re having a kid, Jas.”

“I’m aware of that,” I snap, my own temper flaring.

“So how I earn money is absolutely your concern,” he continues.

“Then why—”

“I got a job at the label,” he says. “I start on Monday.”

I’m so surprised by that, I don’t even know what to say. He’s never once mentioned any desire to work for his dad and uncles. “What kind of job?” I finally manage.

He shrugs. “Something in PR. It’s entry level. I’ll probably be doing a bunch of filing and shit to start out.” He takes a deep breath. “But the pay is decent and there’s room to move up.”

I shake my head. Something about this doesn’t feel right. “So you’ll be working in an office?”

He forces a grin, but it looks fake. “I get my own cubicle and everything.”

I try to picture that and can’t. River in a suit and tie, stuck inside in some cubicle in an office building—it seems wrong.

We talked about this, that first night we were together. I asked if he liked bartending and his response was simple—better than sitting behind a desk.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “I mean, do you really want to work at the label?”

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “I’ve spent enough time waffling around. I kept saying I was bartending while I tried to figure out what I wanted to do, but how am I supposed to figure that out if I don’t try something?”

I can see his point. But the idea of him doingthismakes me feel…sad. And all wrong.

“Besides,” he goes on, his voice stronger now. “I’m going to be a father in the not too distant future. I want to show my kid that I can be responsible.”

And there it is, the reason this whole thing seems so tinged with wrongness. He might have said he wanted to show his kid he could be responsible, but I can read the subtext under his words. He wants to show his parents and his family that he can be responsible. He wants to showme.

“You don’t need to do this for me.”

“Yeah,” he says simply. “I do.”

“River.”

He reaches across the console and takes my hands. “Jas, listen to me. I know that when you found out about the baby, part of your fear had to do with me.”

I want to argue that it’s not true, but I can’t. I was freaked out at the idea of having a kid with someone who didn’t have a career or any real goals, and we both know it.