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So different from the story I assumed. Sad thing is, I like him all the more.
Me: That was sweet of you.
He shrugs and turns his attention to the psychic reading commercial on TV.
I type, asking the question I’m dying to know. Done, I tap his arm to bring his attention to what I wrote.
Me: Why didn’t you acknowledge me in Mr. Brown’s office?
Royce removes his arm to lean forward. With his elbows on his knees, he clasps his hands together. Looking off into space, he travels a billion miles away. After a few beats, he comes back, shifting his gaze to mine.
“That’s not an easy answer. I wish I could say it was to spare you from an awkward moment, and it was, partially, but mainly I was trying not to acknowledge what a tempting… complication you’ve become.”
I raise my hands and shoulders in awhat do you meangesture.
He runs a hand through his hair. It’s grown considerably since he’s been in Texas. Far from the length it was two years ago, but tonight when I raked my fingers through it, the length came over my fingers as I came over his face.
“I have a life… responsibilities back in New York, Sin. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want, but I can’t, at this moment, promise you more.” He looks at the ground and says, “If you feel I’m leading you on, you need to tell me, and I’ll stop this right away. I know I have no right to ask, but I’m hoping you can be cool with that. Can you?” His eyes plead just like they did that night when he’d asked me to stay.
I close my heart to his vulnerability. That’s how I got stuck thinking of him for two years because I thought he was reachable. I know better now. I lift the phone and type furiously. I’m not weak. I never have been. He needs to know that.
Me: I get it, Royce. You speled that out, clear as crystal. im not a woman that holds onto a man after things are over. I like sex. I like it wth you. That’s it. You won’t get more from me either. Andwhen you lave, I’ll wave goodbye and won’t contat you again. i promise.
Spelling mistakes and all, I hand him the phone. While he’s reading my sloppy note, I dart to my feet and head to the kitchen to get some water, counting on its coolness to put out the fire of anger which has ignited inside me.
Yeah, I’m pissed at him for thinking he’s all that.
Well, heis, but he doesn’t have to be an asshole about it. I wasn’t lying when I’d written I enjoy having sex with him. I do, and it would be a damn shame to deny myself the pleasure of his dick.
I’m filling my glass from the tap for the second time when he joins me in the kitchen.
“Can I get one of those?”
I point behind me to where the glasses are and move out of the way.
He gives me a sideways grin, plucks my favorite Aggies cup from the shelf and fills it full of water.
“Are you mad at me?”
He hands me the phone.
Me: Nope. Not mad at all.
But what I don’t say is:I’m just disappointed. I’d hoped for more, but you are too damn closed off to give it to me.
HEAs Aren’t Real
Royce
I’mnoexpertonwomen and their moods. I’ve either paid for them not to give me any static, or when out on a (legitimate) date, I purposefully spent limited time in their company by schmoozing with the people I knew. At the end of those evenings, I’d drop the woman off at her door and give her the first excuse that popped into my brain. Insert: early meeting, trip, headache, etc.
Other than the executives at the Grayson Group, and perhaps Tiffany, Sin is the first woman I’ve spent a considerable length of time with, and I’m at a loss on how to handle myself.
What I said, (and yeah, I shouldn’t have said it) about her catching feelings must have stung her, judging by the attitude she projects and the daggers in her eyes.
Then again, I’m not supposed to placate her. I’mnot supposedto care.
But...
