More silence. That seems to be the theme for tonight—a teeter-totter between conversation and nothing at all.
I watch out the window as we speed down city streets. Downtown slowly turns into the more residential area where I live. Seeing familiar houses and street signs calms me . . . just a couple more minutes until I can put this all behind me.
When we finally pull onto my street, I sit up straight, ready to make my escape. “I’m really sorry about tonight, Pierce.”
“I’ll let you make it up to me sometime. I think you owe me dinner.”
To that, I can only smile. Maybe I do owe him something, but some debts are never paid.
The car comes to a stop in front of my building. I contemplate opening my door and hurrying out to avoid any more conversation, but Pierce opens his first. “At least let me walk you to your door.”
I nod, sliding across the seat. The driver’s waiting for me, coat in hand. “Here you are, Ms. Fields.”
“Thank you,” I reply, slipping my arms into it.
As soon as it’s on, he disappears inside the car, leaving Pierce and I alone. The only thing that separates me from home is about ten feet of sidewalk; it seems much longer now than it ever did before. Pierce’s hand splays against my lower back like it has several other times tonight, startling me. “If it’s any consolation, I had a good time with you tonight.”
“So did I.”
“Hmm, I hate to see your version of a bad date.”
I laugh. “Guy takes you to an expensive restaurant, leaves you paying for dinner. Or better yet, he talks about his ex the entire time, audibly comparing you to her.”
“Damn. You must have dated some winners.”
He’s doing that thing he does again—making me forget. It’s just a little too late because we’re standing in front of my door—the only thing that separates me from the guy who holds a piece of my heart in his hands.
Pierce surprises me, cradling my cool cheeks in his warm hands. “For the record, I’d never leave you with the bill, and there’s no comparison to make between you and my past.”
“That’s good to know,” I reply, chewing on my lower lip. The way he stares down at me makes me uncomfortable. It reminds me of a defining moment in the movies . . . before a kiss. “I should get inside.”
“Remember what I told you about staying away from him,” he says quietly, rubbing his thumb along my cheek. He reads the undying question in my eyes. “And if that’s not enough for you, ask him about Alyssa.” There’s undeniable pain in his voice when he says the name.
“Who?”
He kisses my cheek. “I’m going to leave it up to him to tell you.”
I nod, feeling a sting in my chest. What if there’s someone else? What if that’s where he disappears to? It’s been a doubt that’s lingered for far too long already, and Pierce just planted a seed to make it grow.
“Good night,” he says as he lets go of me.
“Good night and thank you.” I wave as I slip inside. For the second time tonight, I wonder if I’m making a mistake by leaving a man. They’re so different; Pierce probably the safer choice. I just can’t give him a second thought when every part of me is hooked on Blake.
Sometimes, it takes a moment of intolerance to realize where your soft place is. Everything Pierce did tonight was perfect yet I couldn’t be with him because deep down, I was with Blake . . . I never actually left him.
My feet ache from a few hours spent in heels as I make my way up the last flight of stairs. I script exactly what I want to say to Blake—how I want to package my bid to get him back.
Anger makes people say things they wouldn’t otherwise. Nothing happened between Pierce and I to change the way I feel about Blake. Nothing happened to make me feel guilty about tonight except for going in the first place.
The apartment is dark when I push the door open. He’s either away or asleep; I’m hoping for the latter. I need him, and I’m not going to let myself fall asleep until I have him in my sight again. I peel my heels off and flick on the kitchen light.
My stomach turns.
My legs buckle.
Life isn’t fair.
It certainly hasn’t been kind.
They say the awful things that happen to us in our lifetime only make us stronger. I think they just harden us until we can’t feel anymore.
Clothes are scattered in a clear path from the door to Blake’s bedroom—not his clothes. My eyes stick to them. Maybe if I stare long enough, they’ll just disappear. Turn into nothing but a wicked game my mind played.
I step over the tiny black skirt first, then the thin red sweater. I reach toward his doorknob as if it might burn me. I don’t want to know, but I have to. Was moving on this easy?
Before the door even opens, I hear the sounds—the grunts and moans. I see two dark silhouettes, and I know. I know I ruined everything we had, or maybe we never had anything at all.
It only took four hours for him to replace me with someone else—for him to replace me in his bed.
I should close them out of my view, but I can’t. My body is paralyzed, but my heart bleeds as the show of emotions slide down my cheeks. This I can’t erase. I want to take this pain and inflict it on someone else—on him.
It only took him weeks to fix me, and now, I’m broken again. I want him to hurt as much as he’s hurt me.
I step back, slamming the door shut. The moans stop, replaced by hushed whispers.
I wait, needing to see what makes her better than me. Who was worth throwing everything away for? I swipe my fingertip under my eyes. Even if I’m weak, he’s not going to get the satisfaction of seeing it.
While I wait, I pour myself a glass of wine to try and numb the pain. Minutes tick by, and just when I’m thinking they may have picked right back up where they left off, the door inches open.
A thin brunette with long, mussed up hair steps out first in nothing but a black thong and matching bra. Our eyes connect, but she quickly looks away, picking her trail of clothes up off the floor. Blake follows in nothing but his gray boxer briefs. His cock is still swollen—probably a symptom of unfinished sex. Years from now I’ll still think about it. How it felt inside me . . . how it felt to come hard around him. I hate myself for even thinking about it.
“Sorry,” the girl mutters as she reaches around my legs to grab her skirt. I watch her shimmy into it, her cheeks blushing more with each passing second.
“Do you want me to help you find your shoes?” I ask.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch of glimpse of Blake staring at me curiously.
She looks up through her lashes, her doe eyes studying me.
“They’re at the foot of my bed,” Blake answers for her. His voice hints of annoyance but not an ounce guilt. “Why don’t you go get them for her, Lila?”
I hate him. I hate that he called me Lila instead of Lemon Drop. Because I don’t want him to know what I’m thinking or feeling, I walk past them to his room. He won’t expect this. It’ll throw him off . . . make him wonder. I flip the light on, instantly spotting the black stilettos. I grab them up quickly, wanting to escape the lingering smell of sex.
The walk out to the living room is just long enough to take a breath, to clear up my emotions again. “Here,” I say, holding them out to her.
“Thanks,” she says quietly, slipping them off my fingers.
“Not a problem. I’m used to it.”
Her eyes double in size, but she quickly recovers, slipping the shoes onto her feet. I muster everything I have in me to keep myself together. I promised myself I wasn’t going to let anyone take the best of me again. I’m definitely not going to let this woman I don’t know, who probably just met Blake a couple hours ago, take it. I’m not going to let him get away with it either.
When she’s done, she turns to Blake as if I’m not in the room. “Do you want my number?”
Even I know the answer to that.
He shakes his head, walking to the door and opening it for her. “I told you this would be nothing more than this.”