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24
Annie
I’m officially the weakest woman alive.
“What kind of dressing do you like?” Enzo asks, putting the take-out place on hold.
“Whatever is fine. French.”
I tried not to come over tonight. I tried to give him some distance to really think about what he wants because if things go any further between us, I’m bound for heartbreak. I’d rather have it now than later. But after his teasing texts on the plane and advances in the limo, how could I resist? I wanted to come here.
After he finishes on the phone, I say, “Your place is everything I assumed it would be.”
“What does that mean?” He hands me a glass of wine by the window.
“It’s a bachelor pad. A bunch of electronics and black.”
He chuckles. “What’s your place like? Colorful?”
“Compared to yours, it’s like a coloring book colored by a three-year-old. It’s neat, but there’re a lot of knick-knacks. Not like you and your perfectly placed sculptures and paintings.”
“I hired someone.” He shrugs.
“I figured.”
I follow him to the couch. Black leather. How original. All of this pulls my wariness to the forefront. I should’ve never told him I couldn’t talk to Beth or Mae. I should’ve said I need to talk to them, otherwise I’m going to go crazy dissecting every little thing.
It’s good that he wanted me to come over tonight, right? Maybe it’s all about the sex. We do it well together. More than well. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. The girls Enzo’s usually with are probably a lot more experienced than me.
I gulp down the wine, finishing the entire glass.
“Another?” he asks, his fingers circling on my thigh.
“No. I shouldn’t if I’m going home after dinner.”
He tilts his head. “You said you were staying. We went to your condo and got your stuff.”
I made him stay outside while I ran upstairs to change and grab an overnight bag so he wouldn’t have to see how small my one-bedroom condo is. “I forgot I have a family brunch, and you have your family dinner on Sunday.”
He stares at me as if he’s wondering how the hell I know about that.
“Your calendar. It’s marked on every Sunday.”
He nods.
“Oh, God.” Bile rises my throat. This is ridiculous. I’ve memorized his calendar. Not on purpose but still.
“Annie? Are you okay?”
I stare at his soft brown eyes and ask myself the same question. Truth is, I’m not. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
He places his wineglass on the table. “Do what?”
I wave my finger between us. “I’d love to be a girl who can just turn it on and off, but I’m not. There’s no ‘call me when you want to hook up and I’ll be waiting’ thing for me. I’m a dating kind of girl. I’m not a ‘come to my condo, I’ll order dinner, and we’ll fuck like animals until the morning’ girl. I’m sorry.” I stand, disappointed it can’t be different but I’m at peace with my decision. I circle around before I leave his living room. “I hope this doesn’t affect—”
He puts up his hand and I remember how those long fingers felt so amazing inside me. “We’ve been over this. Your job is secure.”
I nod, hurrying to his bedroom to grab my overnight bag. When I come out, his hands are in his hair and he’s pacing behind the couch.
