When Mia looks at me, I feel more heat and emotion between us than I do between me and my girlfriend of three years. And Mia’s only been back in my life a handful of days. That realization causes something within me to stir. This disconnect that’s been building between Tatianna and me rises to the surfaces and demands attention. I want more. A lot fucking more. I mean, there has to be more than this, right? Mia’s hope-filled eyes told me there was—if I’m man enough to embrace it. My life has been devoid of emotion for the last several years as my attention has been focused on growing my business, and yes, I’ve had my needs met with a warm, willing female to share my bed, but it’s lacked any real intimacy.
Tatianna is watching me with a pouted lip, obviously wondering if I’ve lost my mind. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get me either. That would involve looking outside herself, which she never does.
Mia picked right up on my tense mood this morning in the kitchen, asking me if I was okay. I blamed it on last night’s scotch, but the truth was ever since she walked back into my life, looking downright sinful, my head has been spinning.
I sit down on the bed a few feet from Tatianna and consider taking her hand, but we aren’t really the hand holding type, so instead I run my palm across the back of my neck.
“Look, Tatianna...” I start, but am at a loss for words. For the first time in my life. I need to tell her what I want. The problem is, I’m not sure I fucking know what that is.
In the week ahead, we’ll be on different continents, perhaps now is the time to take a break and consider the future of this relationship. I have no idea how she’s going to take this, but it has to be done.
“I want us to both take this week to think about our relationship and what we each want. When I get back from Paris, we’ll make a decision about our future.”
“Why does that sound so depressing?” she asks.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that after three years of dating, we’ve never examined where this was going?”
“I like being with you,” she says, trying to smooth things over. “Why mess with a good thing?”
Except this wasn’t a good thing anymore, at least not for me. But dealing with my relationship status means I’ll have to face my future with Mia. Am I ready for that? Fuck, she’s a friend and I wouldn’t want to wreck that. I’d definitely need this week to consider where I was headed and with whom. I’ve never even considered marriage with my girlfriend of three years, and Mia’s back in my life for a week and I’m rearranging everything just to keep her here. That speaks volumes.
“I’m going to ask Mia to join me in Paris,” I say.
“I don’t have anything to worry about with her, do I?” Tatianna asks, her eyes narrowing on mine.
I shake my head, unable to put into words all that’s running through my brain.
Tatianna rises from the bed and steps closer. “We’re good together, Collins. You know we are.” She reaches down and grabs onto my crotch, rubbing lightly. My dick doesn’t respond.
“Don’t,” I warn.
She shakes her head. “Take this week, and think things over if you want. But I will be here when you get back.” Her hand curls around my cock, squeezing lightly. “And don’t let her lay a finger on this.”
I rise from the bed and stand there, unsure if there’s anything more to say.
Tatianna plays with the long tresses of her hair, and the stack of diamond bangles I bought her clink together on her forearm. She doesn’t seem the least bit upset.
“I need to go talk to Mia,” I say and head for the door.
Chapter Twelve
Mia
Other than the airfare and the cab ride to Collins’ house, I haven’t purchased a thing since I got here. So why won’t my goddamn bag close? I put both my forearms on the top of my suitcase and lean all my weight on it, but there are still several inches between the zipper’s teeth. I’ll never get this thing closed.
“Shoot,” I say aloud and lean back to flip the case open again.
Right on top is my old scrapbook. It’s thick, bursting with photos, clippings and other keepsakes. I plop down next to my bag on the bed and leaf through it. It’s filled with mementos from my childhood. I’d never meant for it to be a history of my friendship with Collins, but now I see that it is. We were best friends for so long that I guess it makes sense.
Photos of Collins and me goofing off at the county fair, age six.
Collins and me laughing our butts off in his parents’ pool, age eight.
Ticket stubs from our first live concert, which he purchased for my thirteenth birthday.