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He draws out my seat for me and I sit. He seems friendly. It might turn out well.
After dainty cups of wine, several courses of beautifully presented dishes, and a steady flow of conversation, I find that we have a lot in common.
He checks all the boxes for what I want in a man… which is why it is downright stupid that I feel nothing for him, no fluttering in my belly, not a single thought that strays in a romantic direction. I see him as someone I can be good friends with, but nothing else.
He's different from Chris in every aspect. The only thing they have in common is that they are both business owners.
Chris makes my heart ache every time we meet. I hate how my body involuntarily submits itself to him without ever putting up a fight, even when I know it's wrong.
He flags down the waiter. “Dinner is on me,” he says as he retrieves his wallet from his pocket.
“Or we can split it,” I offer.
“No, I will use this as a reason to encourage you to go on another date with me.” He smiles.
I don't know what to say. All I know is that there won't be another date. To be polite, I just offer him a smile.
He drives me home, all the while making small talk.
He opens the door for me to step out.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Anything for a beautiful lady like you.”
I flush at his compliment. He leans in to press a kiss on my cheek.
It's suppose to feel right because Perez is a nice guy but everything feels so wrong. It's just a soft peck but it’s like all the puzzle pieces are aligned all wrong in my chest.
“See you soon,” he says before I leave his car and he drives off into the night.
I stand in front of my apartment gate, confused and conflicted. Tonight, I realized that I'm not ready for a relationship.
Someone starts clapping, and I turn to where the sound is coming from.
It's Chris walking up to me, clapping. He seems out of it. His eyes are puffy, and his tie recklessly undone.
I groan inwardly. The root of my misery has decided to show up. I haven't seen him since that night we shared.
With the way he's stumbling, he's drunk. By the time he reached me, I had steeled my emotions. “Go home, Chris.”
“But I just got here,” he says, confused and slurring his words slightly.
“Go home,” I repeat, knowing nothing good would come out of talking to him in his drunk state.
“Why?”
“Please. Chris, just go home.”
His expression suddenly shifts from confusion to anger.
“You want me to leave after not seeing you for four days, Gianna? Four hellish days.” He spits out. His words ring with anger, but his eyes belie something else. “You avoided me like a plague like that night meant nothing.”
“Is it supposed to mean something?” His eyes flicker with something I don't understand, and he stares at me in utter disbelief. “We both needed to unwind. It was a quick fuck and nothing else.”
I honestly don't know where the burst of confidence is coming from, but I'm not going to let him see my trembling knees and shaking heart.
“Is that why you are hanging out with another guy? Is he a quick fuck, too?”
