Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod. How stupid could one woman be in the span of one calendar year? Really stupid, apparently. Stupid enough to think that that night with Jason had meant as much to him as it had to her. Stupid enough to think that whatever unbreakable feelings she had for him might be mutual. Leah had never been much of a runner, but she was running now. She’d never spent much time on the Jersey side, being a Brooklyn girl herself, but in the time she and Jason had been . . . doing whatever they were doing . . . she’d become familiar enough to make it to and from his place and the PATH station that took her back to New York. It was all too familiar. The painful jiggle of her boobs thanks to the quickened motions of her feet and corresponding lack of a supportive sports bra. The awkward slap, slap, slap of her flip-flops as she risked tripping with every lurching step. The gross, hiccupping sobs she was making.
