“Sometimes, in an 'idle daydream' kind of way,” I replied. “But not really. I don't see myself settling down for a long time. Right now, I want to focus on building my career, and just … you know, having fun. Seeing where life takes me.”
“Hm.” Now he looked thoughtful. But he didn't comment further, and soon the silence descended again.
After we had turned around and started jogging toward home, I finally felt brave enough to fire his own question back at him. “So what about you? Do you want to get all domestic?”
Nixon blinked at me. After a long moment, he answered, “I … might be open to it. If the right woman came along.”
We were less than a mile from home and my lungs were on fire, but I still had to lay one last question to rest. Before I could chicken out, I asked, “Is Pam the right woman?”
He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Thrown off guard, I stumbled to a stop beside him. My heart was pounding as much from emotion as from exertion. When I'd rehearsed this confrontation in my head, I had expected Nixon to react with guilt or even anger. His harsh response just made me confused.
Trying not to notice the sweat on his tanned skin, I stuttered, “When you went out of town … you told me it was for work, but…” Stress tightened around my stomach and spine, as if I were reliving that horrible conversation in the lobby all over again. Trying not to burst into tears while Pam just stood there, oblivious, with her handful of junk mail and her childishly excited smile. Before my voice could fail, I pushed all the words out in one breath: “I ran into Pam right after you left and she said she was meeting you for a romantic getaway.”
Nixon's mouth opened and closed, speechless. The shock on his face slowly gave way to white-hot fury. “That two-faced bitch,” he finally growled. “I haven't touched her since the day you moved in. Hell, we've hardly even talked. When you said you didn't want me bringing women home, I told Pam I couldn't see her anymore. I said my stepsister had moved in and I was trying to be respectful. Pam flipped right the fuck out. It was a pretty bad scene.” He gave a snarling huff, raking his fingers through his hair. “But if she's cooking up poisonous bullshit like this, I guess it's even worse than I thought.”
“She … she lied? Just to make me angry?” My head was spinning. “So you didn't really…?” No. Fucking. Way. All that emotional destruction because some bitch was feeling catty about losing her fuck buddy? My anger ratcheted up, but I shut it down just as fast. I wasn’t going to let that ho ruin this moment too.
My decision was instantly rewarded when Nixon’s expression fell into something softer, but just as fiery. Something a little desperate and a little hopeful. “I haven't slept with anyone else since we met. I swear on my life.” He reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “The only woman I’ve wanted is you.”
My heart fluttered at his words—and something lower, too, had fluttered at his touch. But I tried to keep my feet on the ground a little longer. Regardless of how sincere he seemed, I still needed a few more answers. “Then what were you doing last week?”
He pressed his lips together, then sighed and nodded. “Okay. I guess this is a day for full disclosure, huh?”
As we walked home, Nixon finally told me everything about his trip: the medal, the Pentagon, the gag order, everything. “I had to keep my whereabouts under wraps,” he finished. “Otherwise I would have told you all this in the first place.” He smiled at me—the first real smile I'd seen since our fight last week. “Actually, I'm still breaking protocol right now, but … there are more important things.”
By now we had reached the condo complex. As a concession to my sore legs, we took the elevator up. But when we reached the sixth floor, Nixon marched straight past our apartment and started banging on the adjacent door like he was trying to break it down.
“W-what the hell are you doing?” I hurried after him, wondering if he'd lost his mind.
Pam opened the door wearing black booty shorts and a metallic violet tube top that barely contained her vast chest. Holy shit, where's an attack of spontaneous blindness when I need one? I itched to give this poor woman a makeover—but that would be way too nice of me. After imploding my relationship with Nixon, suffering in fashion hell was the least she deserved.
“What the fuck, Pam?” Nixon barked before she could speak. “Where the hell do you get off spreading bullshit around about going away with me?”
“Oh, that.” Her confused expression quickly morphed into irritation. “If you've got the whole story, why come break my door down?”