The Bet by Max Monroe

Jude

I struggle to pull my jeans up my legs and zip them with my hand while simultaneously trying to shove my feet into my boots. I stumble more than a few times and almost fall face first on the hardwood floor right outside of Sophie’s apartment door, but I quickly put a hand to the wall and steady myself.

Son of a bitch.

Just as I start the process of buttoning up my shirt, a middle-aged woman in a pair of plaid pajamas with a little white dog tucked in the crook of her arm steps off the elevator. She pauses mid-step as the doors shut behind her, her brow furrowing at my current display of rushed, bumbling hands and disheveled attire.

Normally, I’d offer something, anything, to put her at ease, to make her smile, to give her relief that I’m not a psycho inside her building, but my mind might as well be on another planet with the way it can’t seem to concentrate on anything but snapshots of Sophie’s tearstained cheeks and shaking hands.

And all I can hear is the pain that was in her voice when she told me to leave.

God, what did I just do?

You broke her heart. That’s what you did.

I yank my hands away from the buttons of my shirt when my fingers can’t seem to manage the simple task and scrub a frustrated hand down my face.

“Fuck,” I mutter harshly, and it’s only then that I note the lady in the pajamas scurries away, moving down the hallway and to her apartment as quickly as her slippers can take her.

Way to go, Jude. You’re really hitting it out of the park tonight.

Another visual of Sophie sits prominently behind my eyes, and I grimace as I recall the words I said to her. The way she looked when I told her we were just fun. Nothing else. Nothing more.

You mean, the way you lied to her.

“Goddammit.”

I turn to face her door, my hand lifted in the air, prepared to rap against the wood, but I pause halfway and shove that hand back into my pocket.

There is absolutely nothing I can say to her that will fix this.

That realization feels impossible to grasp, and the idea of walking away from her feels even harder, but I don’t have any other choice. I can’t give her what she wants. What she deserves.

I’m not the guy you settle down with. Never have been and I vowed that I never will be.

It’s the only way I know.

Love and heartbreak and all that bullshit would destroy me from the inside out. I’ve seen it do those things to too many people I love. I’ve seen the destruction. The aftermath. And I don’t want any part of it. Not for me, and not for Sophie either.

Too bad you’ve already done that not just to her, but to you, too.

I shake my head at myself, pushing the uncomfortable thoughts as far away as I possibly can, and I turn on my heel.

This is for the best.

Ten steps later, I’m standing in front of the elevator. With one push of the button, the doors open and I’m inside.

And by the time I’m stepping into the lobby and heading toward the entrance, I start to believe that what I’m doing is the right thing, even though every step I take feels like I’m going in the wrong direction.

Obviously, I just need some time to process it all, but once I do, I know this is how it has to be because Jude Winslow doesn’t get attached to anyone.

And he sure as hell doesn’t let himself fall in love.