“She left me a few months ago.”
Poor guy.
“Oh, true. What happened?”
“Not really sure. She just ended it one day and then about a week later sent me a fucking text telling me she was seeing another guy.”
“What!” I cry. “Oh, my god! Are you serious?”
“Yep, right before I was about to start work, too.”
What kind of piece of work does that to someone? Honestly? My heart breaks for him. I can’t imagine anything worse than having someone not only break your heart, but to tell you a measly week later that they’re seeing someone else.
“That’s so terrible. I’m so sorry. Did she know you were at work?”
“Yep, she knew. Who does that?”
“Not a nice person,” I mutter. “That’s who. Do you still talk to her?”
“Nah, not at the moment,” he says, and his voice sounds pained. “She blocked me.”
She what?
Oh. My. God.
“You’re kidding, right?” I say, feeling so much for him.
“Nope. I got a bit intense, I guess, trying to call her. So she blocked me. She doesn’t live here, so it wasn’t like I could just go and see her, you know? I wanted to talk to her. I wanted answers. That’s not so crazy, right?”
“Not at all,” I say, feeling angry at this random woman for being such a cold-hearted person. “You have every right to want to talk with her. I can’t believe she blocked you.”
“Yeah, she’s a bitch. Still, I love her, you know? I think that’s what makes me so angry at myself. Even after everything she’s done, if she called and wanted me back, I’d probably go.”
I get that.
It’s a sucky feeling to have, because you know deep down in your heart you’ll get hurt again and you deserve better, but your feelings are tricky things.
“Yeah, I understand that.”
“What about you? You in love with dickface still?”
Some days, I don’t quite understand my feelings for Michael. Sometimes it feels like the pure kind of love, but others, it feels more like an attachment kind of love. One that isn’t as real as I think it is. How could it be? He gave up on us so easily, so was it ever based on the right kind of attraction? “I’m all over the place with it, to be honest. The funny thing is, I swear I didn’t think I could get through another day, I was so heartbroken, and then I started talking to you, and here we are.”
He makes a low hmmmmm sound in his throat. “Yeah, I hear you. I’ve been having a hard time, too.”
I hold his eyes and smile. “Maybe we’re meant to be besties then?”
“Yeah. Maybe we are.”
I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
But mostly, I can’t believe that I’ve met someone who might not only help me, but is going through the same kind of pain I am.
There is no way that’s a coincidence.
No way.
I think I was meant to meet Roman. I just don’t know why.
Yet.
CHAPTER 3
My phone rings, stirring me from my sleep. I blink a few times and rub my eyes. I glance over at the clock. It’s midnight. Who would be ringing me at midnight? I roll over and pick up the phone to see Michael’s name flashing on the screen. My heart leaps into my throat and I pick it up. My fingers tremble as I answer it and press it to my ear.
“Hey,” I say, my voice soft, yet shaky.
I don’t know why Michael is finally calling. I don’t know if I’m angry, or relieved, or just glad to be hearing from him. Will this conversation make everything worse? Or is he calling to ask for me back? Do I even want him back? My mind spins as I wait for his voice to fill my ear.
“Hey,” Michael says, his voice the same as it always was. Smooth, charming, masculine.
“How are you?”
What as stupid question to ask. I’ve thought about what I want to say to Michael a thousand times over, and not once did I think asking how he is would come out of my mouth. Lame.
“I’m okay. How are you?”
I roll to my back, not really sure what to say. He hasn’t spoken to me since he left, and now we’re here, talking. I’ve thought about this moment so many times. When I’m walking down the street, when I’m in the shower, when I’m in bed alone. I’ve gone over it in my head, plotting out the perfect thing to say. Only now that he’s on the phone and I have my chance to say it all, nothing is coming out.
How do you explain to someone that they completely and utterly broke you?
“You’ve been ignoring me.”
That’s the best I’ve got.
I don’t even have it in me to ask why, I can only state a fact.
Michael sighs. That kind of frustrates me, but I don’t say anything about it. “Listen, we both needed time. You know this wasn’t going anywhere, and I had to do it. We can’t be together.”
“Why?” I say, exasperated.
“Because it’s just not a good time for me. I’m sorry I hurt you, but I thought you understood it was just ...”
If he says sex. If he tells me I was just sex, I’m going to die a little more.
“Don’t you say it,” I warn, my voice finding a hard tone, finally.
He goes silent and I know that’s what he was about to say.
“I thought we made it clear that’s all it could be.”
“We spent seven months together, talking, bonding, laughing, having the time of our lives together. It wasn’t just sex. You know it wasn’t.”
“It was always sexual,” he argues. “Half our conversations were sexual.”
“So? Most couples sex talk, Michael. It’s not abnormal.”
He goes silent.
“It was more than that with you.”
My heart thumps against my rib cage. I have a high sex drive. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. I out do most men I meet, but I’ve never, not ever been slutty about it. I enjoy sex, I crave it on a higher scale than most women, but I am very selective about who I sleep with. I never thought it was a problem, not until now. Not until this very second.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap, sitting up and pressing my back against the headboard.
“You and I both know it was about sex for you, more than it was for me. God, we talked about it all the time. It’s all we talked about sometimes.”