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So why the fuck do I actually find myself liking him?
It doesn’t need to be this complicated. I’m making it complicated and he’s just being his indifferent self that I met at the gym. I can’t hold it against him. He showed all his cards on day one. It was me who faked it, faked it all, including my orgasms.
“So, yeah, I gotta get going,” he now says, not addressing the elephant in the room, but again, maybe it’s just me. He looks over at the door to my bedroom and then back at me.
“Okay, yeah,” I reply, nodding as I replay our entire interaction in my head since I met him a couple of months back.
This is hook up number fifteen and they’ve all gone the same way. Us laughing and having fun while we watch a movie or whatever and then it leads to my bedroom, where we have sex, and while it’s been pretty solid sex in my book, I’m afraid to tell him what I want in the bedroom, and nothing good can come of that.
I like him because he doesn’t want me and that’s a fatal flaw in women. We want what we can’t have. We want to change what we know can’t be changed. And as I sit here with Dylan looking at me with his perfect blue eyes and his charming smile, I know exactly what I have to do.
I’m a badass. I started my own company. I’m a fucking catch. I command rooms full of men on a daily basis, convincing them to hire me over the old balding guy with a potbelly and years of experience. I’ve helped design buildings that grace the skyline of San Francisco, restaurants that people rave about and homes that have seen the pages of dozens of magazines.
So I’m going to do exactly what I know I need to do.
Dylan leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. “I’ll text you later, Tess,” he says and before I can correct him, he adds, “Tessa.” Hitting me with a wink.
I hate him.
“Okay, sounds good,” I reply, lying through my teeth.
It doesn’t sound good. It sounds like shit. Bullshit, that is.
“And I work at Somerville Winery and Vineyard,” he tells me just as he’s about to walk out the door. “Actually, I work at Apple Jacks, but it’s a new business that was started up on the Somerville property. I do maintenance there. Like cleaning up, picking apples, processing cider. Stupid shit.”
I try not to let my face give away my surprise, quelling it quickly so he doesn’t catch on to the fact that I’m fully aware of Somerville’s, so aware that I just might one day be working there too.
But more than that, the way he says “stupid shit” makes me feel like he thinks I don’t respect what he does and that sucks.
“It’s not stupid shit,” I say, climbing out of bed to walk him to the door.
“Yeah, whatever,” he says, dismissing my comment.
And of course, now I’m back in. I want him to feel important and something tells me that doesn’t happen to him very often.
But before I can say something more, he cuts in and reminds me exactly why I had come to the decision I did just seconds earlier.
“You’re out of condoms, so next time you’re at the store pick some up.”
He’s got to be fucking kidding me, right?
This guy has zero skills in the wooing women department.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, and I’m certain he misses the sarcasm in my voice. But again, this is where I could just tell him to fuck off or tell him I’d like to see if this could lead to something more. I could tell him I’d like to be taken out on a date and see how he responds, but I don’t.
“You busy this weekend?” he now asks, and for a split second I think he just might ask me if I want to go to dinner or go on a date that doesn’t involve my bedroom. But I should know better.
“No.”
“Sweet, I’ll keep my schedule open for a roll in your bed,” he says with far too much confidence, and I attempt to hide my eye roll. Now’s my chance to say it.
But instead, I’ll just do the mature thing.
I’ll ghost him when he texts me with his typical dirty words that I find far too hard to resist.
Goodbye, Dylan.
But the shit thing is, I have a new client meeting with none other than Lauren Somerville, owner of Somerville Winery and Vineyard next month.
Avoiding Dylan could be a lot harder than I thought.
