Christi tossed her wavy mane, as she often did when a situation wasn’t to her liking. “Fine. I’ll admit the truth. You’ve been busy prepping for the LSAT, and I’ve been bored. So I found a way to amuse myself. Have some harmless fun. End of story. Do you really think I’d ever get serious about a gardener? He doesn’t mean a thing to me. Didn’t that kiss prove it?”

“I don’t know. Let’s try it again.”

He reached for her—and Christi didn’t object.

The ground shifted beneath Jack’s feet as they renewed their clinch, and he groped for the edge of the pedestal. Missed. Knocked the fern to the ground. The ceramic pot shattered on the stone pavers, the sound echoing in the quiet community of residential estates.

Christi jerked back from Mason’s embrace, and their gazes collided, a cavalcade of emotions parading through her eyes. Shock. Horror. Dismay. Embarrassment. She started to rise, as if she wanted to speak to him.

Too late. He’d seen—and heard—enough.

Jack spun on his heel and sprinted toward the front of the house. Toward his car.

But no matter how fast he ran, he’d never be able to escape the gut-twisting truth.

The woman who’d cajoled her way into his hurting heart had used him. Played him for her own amusement. Because she was bored.

It had all been a game with her.

A cry of anguish rose in his throat, wrenched from the depths of his soul. He opened his mouth to let it out, and—

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

At the staccato summons, Jack jerked awake. Shoved aside the tangle of sheets. Fumbled for the cell on the nightstand. After he muted the alarm, he wiped a shaky hand down his face. Squinted at his watch.

He’d actually fallen asleep for an hour.

But given the nightmare-day replay that had strobed through his slumbering mind, staying awake would have been preferable. He could have dealt with mind-numbing fatigue far easier on his shift tonight than the tension now thrumming through his veins.

Thrusting the nightmare into a dark corner of his mind, he swung his feet to the floor, rested his elbows on his knees, and massaged his forehead. It was stupid to waste time regurgitating the distant past. He had pressing matters to deal with, and they required his full attention.

Like reporting for duty in four hours. Following up on the letter that had arrived earlier in the day. Getting in at least sixty productive minutes of writing. Dispensing with Christi’s loan request.

The latter could wait, however, in light of his latest crisis. She’d said she didn’t have to have an immediate answer, mentioned a due date thirty days away. The other issue was more urgent. He had to call Erica before he reported for his eleven-to-seven shift.