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I was the one who drew the line between us very clearly. He’s moving on. With Trish.
I’m trying not to hate her. And simultaneously trying not to cry. I should have known he couldn’t stay out of the dating pool for long. That’s not who he is. And wasn’t my speech at Club Nine about how I knew who he was, and I knew who I was, and the best thing to do was to end this in a timely manner?
But that was before he took me home and made love to me and let me sleep over. That was before I let myself forget my righteous speech about how we should split up.
“I’ll see you on Thursday,” he says into the phone. “Seven o’clock. You too. Bye, Trish.”
Ugh. I’m going to throw up.
I hustle back to my desk and put my headphones on. I try to look casual as I type on my keyboard, sending gibberish to the screen.
He steps into my office and waves his hand in front of my laptop to get my attention. Pretending to be surprised, I pull off the headphones and smile up at him.
He looks the same as he does every day. Painfully attractive in trousers and a button-down. His hair is perfect, his full lips—I know from experience—taste exquisite. He also looks different. He looks like he’s no longer mine.
“I changed my mind about running.” He holds up his cell phone. “Weather app says thirty percent chance of rain. I say we risk it. Why not, right?”
I can think of a few reasons why not to take risks. One being my stupid heart. Another being my misguided sense of optimism. I’m not sure if I’m more sad or enraged. Running with my boss/best friend/former lover would be the best way to burn off the confusing swirl of emotions clogging my bloodstream.
Twenty minutes later, I realize I’m dead wrong about that.
