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“Well thanks for mustering up enough integrity to admit it.”
“Pete, you don’t need to be like this. I’m going to leave soon and I don’t want to feel like we’re not friends anymore.”
“Friends? You don’t want to feel like we’re not friends?”
“Don’t nitpick over semantics.”
“I’m not.”
“You know how much I love those shows. It is such a big deal that I’m about to be on one. Can’t you be happy for me? This is just something for fun. It’s not that serious. And you knew about it before anything ever started with us. I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Oh really? That’s not how it seems.”
“You know what? I’m not angry at all. But tell me what you’re going to do if it goes to the end and he proposes to you.”
“If it got that far, if I let it go that far, it would mean that was what I wanted. So I would say yes.”
Pete set down his unfinished beer, stood up, and walked out of my apartment without even saying goodbye.
Chapter 11
I spent the rest of my evening organizing clothes and taste-testing gourmet beer, alone. Since I’d started with the more traditional flavors, it got to the point that those remaining were so bad that I could only handle a couple of sips of each. The lavender proved to be the most terrible, as expected. Working my way through the beer was kind of like having a box of chocolates and wrecking each one with a teensy bite. Even though they were inedible to begin with, it carried a certain guilt.
At midnight I thought I heard Pete at my door, but when I took a look into the hallway it was empty. I considered going over to his place, but I figured he wouldn’t want to see me. So I packed for my trip and worked my way through even more bad beers. Throughout the evening, my mood jumped from sobby and guilty to self-righteously angry until I passed out on my bed a little after one o’clock.
At six o’clock in the morning I was awakened by knocking on my door. I wrapped myself in my comforter and went out to see who dared to bother me so early. It was Pete. His hair was tousled, his face was stubbly, and his eyes were bloodshot. He’d never looked better.
“I know it’s really early. I haven’t even fallen asleep,” he said.
“Come in,” I said, taking his hand and pulling him inside my apartment.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said. He hugged me and I inhaled him.
“I’m sorry too. Come lie down with me,” I whispered, too sleepy to care about consequences.
“Are you sure?”
“We’re just going to sleep,” I said. But just to be safe, I stopped off in the bathroom and brushed my teeth. When I got to my bedroom he was nervously perched on the corner of my bed, waiting.
“Lie down. Go to sleep,” I laughed. I slipped out of the yoga pants I’d thrown on when the doorbell rang, so I was just in a t-shirt and undies and slid into bed. I patted the spot next to me. “Don’t you want to take off your jeans?”
He stood up and unzipped them. His eyes were locked into mine and I felt my heart start to race. He got into bed, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me. He was so sweet, so passionate. My body pulled up to meet his, seeming to melt right into him. I pushed any thoughts of the future away, happy to have one perfect day with him.
**********
Okay, I’m just going to admit it. We had sex four times and then we got a gourmet red pepper pesto pizza delivered around three o’clock since by then we were famished. We watched National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and split the last beer. The coffee stout. It was delicious. Then we had sex one more time and he spent the night. I am in love. I mean, I didn’t tell him that, but I am. It was the best day of my life.
Now I’m on a plane, somewhere over Oklahoma I guess, getting closer and closer to California. What have I done? Continuing on with this show is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.
I will just tell the producers I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m sure they’ll understand. In fact, if I wait for a day or two and announce it when we’re already filming, it could make great TV. Maybe they will even thank me for a bit of unscripted drama.
“Another Bloody Mary, Miss?”
“Keep ‘em coming,” I told the flight attendant, holding up my empty plastic cup.
“Are you traveling for business or pleasure?” asked the man beside me. Couldn’t anyone come up with a new line?
