On second thought … Burrowing into my couch, I flipped the channel to Syfy. Today wasSharknadomarathon day.
Albany had made her position perfectly clear when she left in the wee hours of the morning—even though I begged her to stay. Turnabout was fair play, right? I’d left her, so she left me. But she wasn’t that type of person. At least, she didn’t used to be. She kept telling me I didn’t know her anymore. Yet, as much as she’d tried to tell me she’d changed, she still seemed like the Albany I loved beyond reason—except everything about her was better.
Something had passed between us last night, something deeper than sex, something deeper than the past. Despite what she’d said, our connection was as strong now as it was then. I felt it in the way she responded to me, the way she’d started to leave, then came back. And shewasrunning from it.
I promised to let her set the pace.
She was scared. I couldn’t blame her, though. When she’d described how she struggled after I moved away … my heart shattered at her confession. Because I would’ve done anything for her, I would’ve moved heaven and earth to protect her. I never thought I’d have to protect her from me.
After she left, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t unsee the look in her eyes, the devastation that I’d left there. Since then, I’d been in the same position. My phone was on do not disturb, and my laptop was closed.
Boom.
“Wes,” Erica called. “I know you’re home.”
I finished the beer I’d opened moments earlier and made my way to the door. I still had no intention of letting her in, but I needed to be sure she was okay before I could sufficiently ignore her.
“Please,” she whined. “I’m having a panic attack. I don’t know what to do.”
Shit.
“That guy I went out with last night … He did something and I—”
I tugged the door open and yanked her inside the house. “Did he hurt you?” I studied her face, looking for signs of abuse. “Where is that muthafucka?”
Erica sighed. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”
“Then, what?”
“He turned my proposal down.”
Grumbling a curse, I walked away from her and plopped back down on my sofa. She was still talking, but I’d effectively tuned her out. The tornado just touched down in fictitious Manhattan and the sharks were wreaking havoc in the subway tunnels.
Eventually, she sat next to me. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Did you hear a word I said?”
I glanced at her. “No.”
“Wes, I don’t know what to do. I thought he was a good prospect. He’s successful, works hard, and he’s celibate.”
“What?”
“I figured the best person to marry was someone I wouldn’t really fall in love with. I don’t want to deal with heartbreak. I’m not ready to be invested in someone like that. But he turned me down, called me high maintenance. Said I wasn’t his type. His type for what? Separate bedrooms, a shared dinner here and there, and companionship?”
“Could that be the reason he turned you down? Most men would consider separate bedrooms a deal-breaker.”
“It shouldn’t be. He told me he was asexual.”
I choked on the water I’d just gulped down.
“I figured it was a win-win scenario,” she continued, oblivious to how uncomfortable this conversation was for me. “I didn’t have to be intimate with him, but we could’ve built an empire together.”
I blinked. “I guess I’m just confused why you thought this was a good idea.”
“Wes, you know me. You know what I’ve been dealing with. My last relationship ended with flat tires, court dates, and hard feelings. I just wanted this marriage thing to be easy.”
“Don’t you have some friends to talk to about this?”
“Cyn is holed up in some bungalow with one of her boyfriends.” She pouted. “Besides, youaremy friend.”
