Page 8 of Making Over Maris

“The Jack thing?” Sara tossed the paper clip onto her blotter and picked up a fresh one.

Kat smiled. “That too. But I was talking about the crying jag. You’re not a crier, hon. What’s going on?”

Sara glared at her phone. “It’s nothing. Only—you know how one day you think you found it? You think finally, after all the dates and the clubs and the searching, you finally met him? That guy? The one who will be your all and everything?”

“Yeah.”

“And the next day…pfft. Nothing. You realize you were wrong. That thing, that ephemeral, indefinable thing isn’t yours at all? And it probably never will be?”

“Ah. Todd still hasn’t called?”

Sara shook her head. “But it’s more than that. Even if he did, even if he showed an inkling of interest, I know in my heart…he’s not the one.” She shrugged. “It’s tough, letting go of that dream. That hope—”

“Todd’s a jerk. I never liked him. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Such a friend.

The tears welled up again. It was a pity she couldn’t tell Kat the whole story. She couldn’t tell anyone the whole story. About what she’d tried the last time she and Todd had been together. His dreadful reaction to it…

It was humiliating to put yourself out there, let your true inclinations show—and have the guy of your dreams recoil.

The bald fact of the matter was, Todd wasn’t going to call. He was never going to call. It was finished. She’d finished it.

Damn. She should have kept her fantasies to herself.

But who wanted to live their entire life wrapped in a lie?

Sara sat back in her chair and sighed.

What the hell was wrong with her? Why did her relationships never work out? Everyone around her seemed to have figured it out. Even Kat, who was painfully shy with men. And Shannon. And Jenny. Hell, Jenny was able to juggle multiple long-term romantic relationships…

As though Kat sensed Sara’s spiraling melancholy, she changed the topic. “So tell me about that thing with Jack.”

A manic chuckle bubbled up. “Oh. That. Get this, he asked me to My Fair Lady him.”

Kat tipped her head to the side. “To what?”

“You know. Teach him to walk and talk like a regular lady…killer.”

“Seriously?” Kat chuckled.

“Yep. He even offered to pay me.”

Kat sobered. “He what? Did you say he offered to pay you?”

“Yep.” Sara rediscovered her fascination with the mangled paper clip.

“Jack Maris? The tightest fist this side of the Rockies?”

“Yep. A trip to Paris.” And a gigolo.

“Holy crap. Sara, that’s huge.”

“I know, right?” She dropped the paper clip and fiddled with a pencil instead. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

“No. That’s not what I meant. I mean Paris is huge. But…that he asked, that he wanted it enough to pay for it. It’s not very ‘Jack’, is it?”

Come to think of it—it wasn’t. Jack never asked anyone for help. Even when he desperately needed it. He would much rather push through all alone. And he didn’t like paying for anything. He’d once driven fifteen miles for a free cup of coffee.