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“He broke up with you. Why wouldn’t he do the same with me?”
“Because he loves you. He never once looked at me the way he looks at you, mate.” It cost him something to admit that, and it made me feel sad for him.
He turned and walked away, and I watched him until he disappeared down the crowded sidewalk. Then I sighed and went into the shop.
It was open and airy with high ceilings. A few clothing racks, partially disassembled mannequins, and random items had been left behind by the former occupants. The wall to my left was mirrored, and on the opposite beige wall, Roger had painted no fewer than twenty swatches in various shades of pink. That made me feel bad for him all over again, because he was trying so hard to win over a man who’d never take him back.
I sat on the tan carpeting with my back against the mirrored wall and studied those paint swatches for a while. Gabriel didn’t even particularly like the color pink. He’d probably prefer deep plum on that wall, or garnet. I found myself imagining the décor that would go with either of those colors, and then I muttered, “What the hell are you doing?”
I was as bad as Roger. I just wanted to fix everything for Gabriel, to take care of him and make him happy. That sounded okay on the surface. It was what people in love did all the time. But not like this, not by keeping secrets and going behind his back, and definitely not by making decisions for him. I should have listened when he told me not to contact Roger, instead of assuming I knew best.
Gabriel probably needed some time to himself after all of this, so instead of running back to the apartment and begging his forgiveness, I did what I thought was the mature thing. I sent him a text that said: I’m truly sorry. I didn’t realize just how wrong I was until tonight. Since you probably need some space right now, I’m going to leave you alone and come see you tomorrow, so we can talk this out. If you want to talk sooner, all you have to do is message me and I’ll come running. I love you, Gabriel.
After I hit send, I remembered he’d left his phone at the apartment. Even though I knew it would take him a while to get back there and see my message, I still refreshed my screen for the better part of an hour to see if he’d replied. I also reread my text message a bunch of times and thought of better ways to say all of that.
Damn it, why did I have to go behind his back and involve Roger? And after I was dumb enough to do that, I should have confessed right away instead of letting him get blindsided. Not that I ever imagined he’d find out in such a completely overwhelming and in-your-face kind of way. What a shock it must have been to see himself on that poster! Not that there was a good way of finding out your boyfriend and your ex were keeping secrets and making decisions for you, but anything would have been better than that.
Right about then, it finally occurred to me that I really should take down the poster. Actually, I should have done that first thing, but I hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly.
I got up and crossed the room to the huge plate glass window. The vinyl poster was fastened to a rolling bar that hung across the top of the window, and it was anchored below the sill with a black cord tied to a floor-mounted metal bracket. Nothing happened when I unfastened the cord. I wondered if it operated like a retractable shade, so I pulled down on the bottom of the poster. When I let go, it shot up so quickly that it made me jump. It worked, though. The poster was now coiled up and out of sight.
It startled me when I realized someone was standing on the other side of the window, looking in. I couldn’t see much more than his outline, since it was lighter in the shop than it was outside. That meant I was mostly just seeing my own reflection in the glass.
It seemed kind of creepy that he kept standing there. He’d probably been admiring the sexy poster, but it was long gone and he hadn’t budged.
I squinted to try to see him more clearly, which of course didn’t help at all. All I could tell was that he was tall and broad-shouldered, and that his hair was blond because it was backlit by a streetlamp. Why did I feel like there was something familiar about him?
Curiosity made me take a step forward. He did the same thing, which put him under a light at the front of the building. His gaze locked with mine. A jolt of panic shot through me when I realized I was staring into the ice-blue eyes of Mason Simeck, the man who’d once called himself my Dom.
