“There’s always a but.” My shoulders slump.
“But, it seems to me that if Adam makes you happy right now, then maybe you should take what you can get. It’s more than some have.” She coughs extra-hard, probably to indicate herself.
“You might be right. But I have to think of Clarissa.”
“Don’t fuck yourself out of something amazing because you’re too scared to see where it might lead.”
My mind scrambles to find the words that will convince her I know what I’m doing. Maybe I’m trying to convince me too. “I’m not afraid—really. I have to make a wiser choice this time around. I made a terrible mistake with Matt. I won’t do it again. I have to be smarter. Lean more on my mind, less on my wants and stupid wishes.”
My mouth waters, but not in a good way—more like it’s preparing to wash itself once my stomach is done turning inside out.
I toss up my breakfast into the toilet, flushing it down along with every last shred of doubt I had that I’m doing the right thing. Staying in this relationship, not knowing when Adam will bolt, is making me physically ill.
I lie on the floor, pressing my forehead against the silent porcelain. The porcelain that doesn’t judge. Porcelain that is, thankfully, clean because I’ve been feeling weird and scrubbing everything in my life. As though that will rid me of all problems. If it’s clean, it must be all right.
Dragging my phone from my back pocket, I do what I’ve needed to do for a week and have put off because I’m not only a coward, but also because I’ve not been ready to give him up. Even though it’s the right thing to do.
I text Adam.
-Can I see you?-
I have just enough time to hurl once more before his reply comes back.
-Come over tonight around seven. I’ll make dinner.-
The word dinner conjures thoughts of food, which induces another round of vomit.
Guilt puke.
Who the hell has ever puked because of guilt?
Me.
If ever there was anyone who’d puke out of guilt, it would be me.
-No. Don’t go to all that trouble. It was my idea. Let me treat you.-
I drag myself to the sink and brush my teeth.
My phone vibrates from the floor.
The screen lights with Adam’s text.
-Just come over here. Seven. Don’t be late.-
I rinse and lean over the counter, staring at my haggard reflection. My hair is stringy. My skin is sallow. I need another shower.
Chloe jumps up onto the counter, tail swishing, big green eyes gazing at me as though to berate me for my bad behavior.
“Stop looking at me like that. It’s for the best.”
She gives a loud meow as if to say, “Are you stupid?”
* * *
I swallow hard as I raise my hand to knock on Adam’s door.
He answers, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder and an oven mitt adorning one hand.
He leans down and lays a soft kiss on me, nipping my bottom lip before he lets go. “Come on in. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
The smell of grilling steak permeates the air and my stomach clenches. I flatten my hand over it. Now is not the time to let my nerves get the better of me.
I can do this. It’s best for all of us.
Adam heads toward his kitchen. “Where’s Pipsqueak?”
“She’s spending the night with Leigh.”
He stops abruptly, and I almost run into him, but he turns and catches me in his strong arms. “Ah. Even better.”
His mouth comes down, and his tongue glides along mine. An immediate rush of warmth makes a throbbing beeline to my pussy. I sink against him and devour the feel of his arms around me.
This is the last time he’ll hold me.
That thought is almost enough to make me change my mind right here and now.
No. I have to be strong.
I push away, patting his pecs. “Hello to you, too.”
Choose wisely, dumbass. Choose wisely.
Adam’s brow furrows, but he returns to the stove rather than call me on my weird behavior. “Since the Pipsqueak didn’t come with you, make sure you take that sack home with you. It’s just some things I saw when I was out getting dinner stuff that I thought she’d like.”
I follow him to the kitchen. I peek into the pink gift bag perched on the edge of the island. Colorful gumballs, a tiny paddle-ball, a yo-yo, and a miniature coloring book stare at me from the bottom of the sack, accusing me of treachery.
My throat tightens.
His table is set with linen napkins and wine glasses and even a candle adorns the center, flanked by two small bud vases stuffed with wildflowers.
I close my eyes, dragging in a deep breath.
Good Lord. He did all this work to make a nice dinner, and I’m about to tell him to take a hike.
Adam spins the grill tongs on the end of his finger, catching them mid-air when they almost fall. Then he nabs a bottle from the ice bucket. “Wine?”