Page 11 of Obsessed with my Ex

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He doesn’t waver, his eyes on me. “I mean it.”

“Why?” I ask, even though I shouldn’t because if this has anything to do with the past, I don’t want to talk about, at least not right now. It’s hard to open old wounds without a treatment plan.

“I wasn’t ready for anyone else. Still not ready.”

My breath catches in my throat. What the hell does he mean? That he doesn’t want to get serious with anyone anytime soon? Or that he still—

I give myself a mental bitch slap, willing my self-preservation to kick in.He left you before, a small voice inside me pleas.Don’t make this more than what it is. A fun weekend of sex.“Well, I am ready to shower after this hot, sticky sex session,” I say, as I swing a leg over the other then get out of the bed.

“Want some company?” he asks, and I’m too weak to say no.



I’m dead.

I’ve died and gone to heaven.

A cliché, I know, but a handy one at a time like this.

When Eliza told me she hasn’t fucked anyone else during our separation, she lit a fire inside me I’m still trying hard to extinguish. That has to mean something. She hasn’t slept with anyone else even after I left her. After I walked out on our marriage.

I want to tell her I haven’t either. I also waited for her, even if I didn’t know how to go about it. Even if I’m the world’s worst communicator. I want to yell that, but fear clogs my throat. What if it’s too soon?

I proposed a weekend of dirty fun, and she herself asked not to talk about the past. If I disrespect her wishes, how can I show her I’ve changed?

“Do you think anyone heard us?” she says, looking at me with her pretty hazel eyes. We took a shower together, touched each other, then came back to bed, where we made love again. Now, here we are, side by side, looking at each other like infatuated teenagers. At least that’s how I feel.

I stroke her cheek. “Don’t worry.”

She purses her lips. “Okay.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, concern lacing my voice. I got so fucking carried away, I was like a drug addict on a last binge. I couldn’t stop fucking her.

“Yes.” She smiles.

The buzz of my phone sounds in the distance.

She shifts in the bed. “Do you have to do work while you’re here?”

“No.” I say. “Why?” I ask. In the past, she mainly supported my work at Sugar & Silk.

“I don’t know… it’s hard I guess knowing you’re surrounded by beautiful women.”

“I’m not surrounded by them like an old sleazy gangster movie. I interview some of them, vet them and add them to our roster if they pass. It’s professional, and you’ve attended a couple of those interviews in the past,” I have to remind her. I insisted she went with me because I’d hate for her to imagine other things in her head. Sugar & Silk got to where it is with a lot of hard work and professionalism. I’d never jeopardize that, even if I were unattached.

“Yes, you’re right,” she says in a small voice that betrays her words.

“If you had a problem with my career, how come you never told me?” I ask.

She comes to a sitting position on the bed, and wraps her arms around her legs. “It’s not a big problem, I mean I trusted you then…”

“But not anymore?”

She shrugs. “We got married, and after the first big challenge, you left.”

I feel the pain in her voice, and wish I could gut punch myself over and over. I hurt her—even more than I can imagine. Shit. A cold sensation flutters in my chest. “I’m sorry I left. I can’t ever take that back. I just want you to know… me leaving was about me, not about you. I had a hard time dealing with it, and it was my mistake. My flaw. Not yours.”

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