Sleeping with Mr. Sexy(10)
I feel the tears forming in my eyes, and I try to duck out from around him, but he stops me, holding me by the wrists and pushing his hips against mine, my feet between his, trapping me.
“You just said it yourself,” I say, raising my voice now, anger spurring me on. “Bad timing! What else do you want me to say?”
“I want you to be honest with me.” His gaze pierces mine. “We were best friends, and you left without saying goodbye—”
“I was embarrassed.”
“Of me? You were embarrassed about sleeping with me?”
“We didn’t do that much sleeping—”
“Stop it! Don’t belittle this conversation. I still deserve answers.” His phone buzzes in his pocket, drawing his attention away from me as he looks down, reaching for it, and effectively releasing me.
Taking the opportunity to make my escape, I slip out from his grasp, and reach for the car door.
He’s reading a text that apparently takes precedence over what’s happening between us.
“You should get back to your fiancée, Chase.” I feel hatred for Darcy right now. It’s not rational, but I can’t help it. Looking at him breaks my heart into a million pieces, and I make a vow on the spot to have a very long break from guys.
“Lydia? Please,” he says. His hand presses against the driver’s side window and he stares at me as if he’ll be able to stop me from getting in the car.
With my hand on the door handle, I keep my head down, and whisper, “I was never embarrassed that I slept with you. I hate that you slept with me just because we got caught up in a game of jealousy. I always wanted it to be different for us. We deserved better than to be together out of fear of losing each other. We deserved better than that.” I open the door and slide down into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut, and starting the engine. When I put the car in reverse, he takes a step back, out of the way.
As I back up, he’s waiting, so I come to a stop, knowing I owe him this much, and crack the window open.
With his fingertips holding tightly to the top of the glass, he says, “For the record, I was never embarrassed, and I didn’t fuck you out of jealousy. I made love because I’d been in love with you since the day I met you in Poli-Sci class.”
Before I even absorb what he just confessed to me, he walks away. I watch in the rearview mirror as he lowers his head and shoves his hands in his pants pockets.
Needing time to calm down, I sit there a moment longer with my foot on the brake. Did that really just happen? Are confessions appropriate when I have a flight back to New York tomorrow, and he’s engaged? I slam my head against the headrest, and shout, “Double damn!” I burst into tears, knowing deep down it would play out like this if I was ever forced to face him, which is why I avoided coming back as long as I did.
What really pains me though, is the fact that I lost him twice. The first time because I was too stupid to see what us getting together really meant. The second time because he moved on leaving me behind. The tears flow freely and I feel our once unbreakable bond, tattered and broken beyond repair.
He’s getting married.
* * *
I hold true to my no dating vow for five months. It wasn’t hard considering I still work ridiculous amounts of hours a week.
Sitting at home one Saturday evening, I’m popping M&Ms into my mouth by the handful and downing wine by the glassful. I miss my friends. I miss my old life. My visit home last December renewed all my friendships, all but one, of course. But I’m glad to have the other ones back in my life again. I hadn’t realized how lonely I had become.
I call Caris. Four rings, and she answers, “You’ve got amazing timing.”
“No hello,” I reply, and giggle.
“No time for hellos.”
“Why? What’re you doing?”
“I’m at the wedding, Lydia.”
“The wedding? Am I supposed to know what wedding you’re at?”
I wait, taking another sip of wine when she finally speaks again. One word is all it takes to explain everything. “Chase’s.”
In an instance, I go numb. Then something inside of me finally blows, every repressed emotion bursts forth. I stand up as if that will make a difference as I make demands. “I’ve got to talk to him, Caris!”
“What? No! You can’t do that.”
“Caris, I need to. Please. Get the phone to him.”
“No! He’s getting married in less than thirty minutes. Don’t do this to him. Let him be happy. You had your chance—”
“Bullshit! Caris Elizabeth Michaels, put him on the damn phone right now!”