“If he calls here—”
“He’s not going to find out where you work. LA is huge, right?”
I leaned back in my chair. I didn’t want to argue about this. “You still shouldn’t have told him anything.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“But,” I said, “I do want that asshole to know I’m not crushed without him. It’s kind of my only sense of…victory or something, you know?”
We got past that little issue and she caught me up on the baby and other things going on in our little hometown. For the first time, and rather strangely, I felt a little tug of nostalgia. Not quite homesickness. Not yet, anyway. I figured it was simply an easy fantasy escape coping mechanism to deal with the fact that I hadn’t really adjusted to the hustle and bustle of LA and Hollywood yet. Kind of a yearning for the slower, simpler times.
NINE
There was nothing slow or simple about the way the rest of the week played out.
When I got home Wednesday after work, I found two dozen red roses on my doorstep, along with a card that said: Sorry I’ve been so busy. Thinking of you and want to see you again soon. I’ll call. – M
My initial thought was gratitude that he’d had the sense not to send it to my office.
My second thought was how to tell him I just wasn’t ready for something so intense, especially something fraught with so much possibility of letdowns.
I had come to the conclusion that I wasn’t ready to date. Nor was I ready for a fuck buddy. And I really wasn’t—and might never be—ready for a high-intensity relationship with someone like Max.
My self-esteem kept chiming in and telling me I wasn’t pretty enough, rich enough, or sophisticated enough for someone like Max. The really depressing thing was that I felt like I was only good enough for someone like Chris Cooper. He’d done a real number on me, and while I had been able to break away from it for a while and enjoy the powerful seduction of Max, I was still drawn back to that self-defeating belief.
It seemed like a nearly impossible thing to admit to him, but there was a part of me that figured once he heard even half the story he would probably be gone in the blink of an eye.
So be it.
He called around 8 p.m. that night. I was putting some clothes in the washer when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and let it go to voicemail. I heard no voicemail alert, and then the phone rang again.
I took a deep breath and answered it.
He said, “Hey, babe.”
Babe? I might have taken that as a cute term of endearment had the situation been different, and had I not talked myself into this frenzy of doubt over being his latest score.
“Max, I—”
“Before you say anything, I’m on the way over.”
“What?”
“I’m about ten minutes away from your place. Thought I’d stop by.”
“I wish you’d called before,” I said.
“I just did, but you didn’t answer.”
“You know what I mean.”
Screw it. I might not be ready for the talk, but it had to happen sooner or later. And since he was on his way over, it looked like this was going to happen sooner.
Ten minutes later, just as he’d promised, Max knocked on my door.
When I opened it, he somehow looked even better than he had before. Or maybe it was just my subconscious reminding me what I was about to do—tell this gorgeous, rich man to take a hike because I couldn’t deal with the jealousy, distrust, and doubt.
He wore black slacks, with a blue button-down shirt. Simple. Understated. But damn, so sexy on him. He had one hand on the doorjamb, the other behind his back, striking a relaxed pose.
After our phone call, I had rushed into my room and changed out of my ratty sweatpants and t-shirt, back into the clothes I’d worn to work that day. It may seem kind of silly, trying to look my best and not wanting him to see me so casual, when this was going to be the last time we’d ever be around each other casually. From this point on, it
“He’s not going to find out where you work. LA is huge, right?”
I leaned back in my chair. I didn’t want to argue about this. “You still shouldn’t have told him anything.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“But,” I said, “I do want that asshole to know I’m not crushed without him. It’s kind of my only sense of…victory or something, you know?”
We got past that little issue and she caught me up on the baby and other things going on in our little hometown. For the first time, and rather strangely, I felt a little tug of nostalgia. Not quite homesickness. Not yet, anyway. I figured it was simply an easy fantasy escape coping mechanism to deal with the fact that I hadn’t really adjusted to the hustle and bustle of LA and Hollywood yet. Kind of a yearning for the slower, simpler times.
NINE
There was nothing slow or simple about the way the rest of the week played out.
When I got home Wednesday after work, I found two dozen red roses on my doorstep, along with a card that said: Sorry I’ve been so busy. Thinking of you and want to see you again soon. I’ll call. – M
My initial thought was gratitude that he’d had the sense not to send it to my office.
My second thought was how to tell him I just wasn’t ready for something so intense, especially something fraught with so much possibility of letdowns.
I had come to the conclusion that I wasn’t ready to date. Nor was I ready for a fuck buddy. And I really wasn’t—and might never be—ready for a high-intensity relationship with someone like Max.
My self-esteem kept chiming in and telling me I wasn’t pretty enough, rich enough, or sophisticated enough for someone like Max. The really depressing thing was that I felt like I was only good enough for someone like Chris Cooper. He’d done a real number on me, and while I had been able to break away from it for a while and enjoy the powerful seduction of Max, I was still drawn back to that self-defeating belief.
It seemed like a nearly impossible thing to admit to him, but there was a part of me that figured once he heard even half the story he would probably be gone in the blink of an eye.
So be it.
He called around 8 p.m. that night. I was putting some clothes in the washer when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and let it go to voicemail. I heard no voicemail alert, and then the phone rang again.
I took a deep breath and answered it.
He said, “Hey, babe.”
Babe? I might have taken that as a cute term of endearment had the situation been different, and had I not talked myself into this frenzy of doubt over being his latest score.
“Max, I—”
“Before you say anything, I’m on the way over.”
“What?”
“I’m about ten minutes away from your place. Thought I’d stop by.”
“I wish you’d called before,” I said.
“I just did, but you didn’t answer.”
“You know what I mean.”
Screw it. I might not be ready for the talk, but it had to happen sooner or later. And since he was on his way over, it looked like this was going to happen sooner.
Ten minutes later, just as he’d promised, Max knocked on my door.
When I opened it, he somehow looked even better than he had before. Or maybe it was just my subconscious reminding me what I was about to do—tell this gorgeous, rich man to take a hike because I couldn’t deal with the jealousy, distrust, and doubt.
He wore black slacks, with a blue button-down shirt. Simple. Understated. But damn, so sexy on him. He had one hand on the doorjamb, the other behind his back, striking a relaxed pose.
After our phone call, I had rushed into my room and changed out of my ratty sweatpants and t-shirt, back into the clothes I’d worn to work that day. It may seem kind of silly, trying to look my best and not wanting him to see me so casual, when this was going to be the last time we’d ever be around each other casually. From this point on, it
Similar Books
