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“I had to hear about them and see them all the same. It makes no difference to me when you touched them. You still did.”
“Mia, you said I’m not yours. What does it matter what I did with them?”
I rolled my eyes. I was so sick of debating the level of sex he’d had with each of them. Or whether what happened here last night was right or wrong. I was over it. I wanted to run. “If you’re not mine and I’m not yours, then what are you doing here?”
“I have no fucking clue, Mia. No fucking clue.” Terry’s tone was bitter and he looked completely disgusted. Whether it was with me or himself, I couldn’t tell.
“Then go home,” was my only retort. And Terry turned on his heel and walked away from me.
There, I thought. For once he listened and did what I asked him to. But I didn’t feel like I’d won some victory. Instead, a feeling of dread twisted in my gut. I felt bad for seeing him outside of Bryce’s apartment, and I felt bad about the bite mark on my neck. But I certainly wasn’t sorry for last night’s activities.
Jamming my earbuds into my ears, I headed in the opposite direction to begin my run. Hopefully, it would help clear my head and sort out some of this mess I seemed to be creating.
Forty-five minutes later, my legs felt like jelly, and I was sweaty and out of breath. I returned to the front of Bryce’s building, looking around to make sure Terry wasn’t there. I hadn’t expected him to be, but a part of me had hoped I would see him.
After punching in the code to Bryce’s building, I entered the front doors and went straight to the elevators where I hoped a handsome man had some breakfast ready for me. As soon as the elevator opened up into the living room of the penthouse, I could smell the aroma of cinnamon and coffee wafting through the apartment.
“Oh my God. You are the most incredible man out there,” I called, making my way to the kitchen.
“Why thank you. But you, my dear, smell like sweat—and not the good kind.” Bryce wiggled his eyebrows at me while I laughed. “So while I keep this warm, you go shower.
He stood behind a large, black marble island, turning over large pieces of French toast. He was wearing his signature look of a black T-shirt and dark wash jeans, and he looked absolutely delectable.
“Hmm,” I hummed with delight. “And what is the good kind of sweat?”
“The kind where you’re hot and sweaty from being ravished all night. Kind of like last night,” Bryce said with a wink.
“Ah, yes,” I said. “Well, if I’m already sweaty from my run, why don’t you come over and make sure I’m thoroughly sated?”
“I would love to, but you smell like a gym sock. Now go get yourself showered so we can enjoy our breakfast.”
Sticking my tongue out at him, I made my way toward his bathroom for a shower.
We ended up feeding each other French toast and banana slices for breakfast. We watched sports and Food Network. I read the Sunday paper and pointed out stories to Bryce that I thought he would enjoy. In most ways, we felt like a true couple. And I liked it. I wondered if this was what it could be like, especially if Terry had never reappeared in my life. But his presence was making things entirely too complicated for my liking.
