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After Belle leaves, I try my best to get back into my article. I stare blankly at my screen, recalling every minute of that date.
“You can put away your claws, but I’d like you to think about how today went, and why it made you so angry. Maybe you’ll see who’s really full of shit.”
No man has ever talked to me that way. His words replay on a loop in my mind until shame twists my stomach. I can’t explain what happened or why he’d made me so angry, but my feelings are valid.
Maybe it was wrong to expect the great Stefan Grenalds to condescend to spend a little bit of money on me, but, though I hate to admit it, it hurt my feelings that he spent so little. As if I’m not even worth trying to impress, like I’m so simple that I’ll throw pussy at him with no effort on his part. I felt like a whore, a common whore. Even if what happened made me look like a gold digger, I’m worth more than a walk around a library and a stroll through Railroad Park.
Still, I feel ashamed for blowing up the way I did. I didn’t have to talk to him like that. I could have found a better way to express my feelings. Sighing, I drop my head on my desk hating my conscience. I’m not completely in the wrong. He’s wrong too. He might as well have taken me to McDonald’s and given me free reign over the dollar menu.
My phone chirps a notification tone. When I pick it up, my screen brightens with a text. It’s the 480 number. Stefan.
Come to dinner with me, it reads.
My heartbeat kicks into the next gear as heat floods my entire body. He actually wants to see me again? No. Nope, nope, nope. I’d be stupid to get involved with him. It doesn’t matter what Belle says. He’s a playboy. Even she admits that he sleeps around. Whether he takes advantage of women or not, he’s obviously not looking to settle down. I’m not going to be another notch on his belt.
Liv’s warning plays in my mind. Liv is right. If I get wrapped up in Stefan Grenalds, he’s going to break my heart. I’m not the type of person that can handle a relationship that’s just sex. I never have been. I know for a fact that’s all he wants.
My phone chirps with another text.
I’m picking you up at 7:30. Be ready.
My breath escapes me shakily. He’s not serious. The white screen of my phone shakes in one hand as the trembling fingers of my other hand hover over it. Suddenly, I drop my phone, wiping my hands on the stretchy fabric of my leggings. I just won’t respond. There’s no way he’ll show up at my place without a confirmation. Besides, he’s not even asking. He’s demanding.
Mm, something about that sends a rush of fire to that aching lonely space between my legs. I squeeze them together cursing my body for ignoring my mind. I don’t have to respond. He’s not going to show up. He’s just baiting me. I make an effort to get back into my article, but I can’t focus. Shaking my head, I decide to grab some coffee from the little shop across the street.
