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“Whatever,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his waist and getting on my tippy-toes to kiss his neck. Being in his arms, it’s like coming home again. It’s like I was made to fit in them. “It better be good,” I say right before I turn and walk into the living room, where I put on my Below Deck and try to make sense of what just happened.
TWENTY
ROMEO
“So how is it?” I ask as she takes the first bite of the pasta.
Her eyes go big, and then she closes them. “It’s so good,” she says, grabbing a piece of shrimp and taking another bite. “Out of everything you’ve made me, this has always been your best.”
I shake my head. “My chicken parm is on point also.” I point my fork at her before grabbing my piece of shrimp. “Not bad,” I agree, smiling at her.
“Fine,” she huffs, taking another bite of her pasta, “you’re a really good cook.”
“Among other things?” I wink at her, and she just shakes her head. “Now, do you want to talk?” I ask, knowing she needed to work it out in her head before anything else.
“What is there to talk about?” She avoids looking at me and instead looks down at the plate in front of her as her fork moves the spaghetti around on the plate.
“Well, for one, you were pretty upset with me,” I prompt, looking at her, and she looks up at me.
“Oh, not were,” she throws back, giving me a fake smile. “Am.” I chuckle at that. “Explain to me what the hell happened.”
I swallow, not sure I want to explain, but knowing that in order for us to move past this, there has to be transparency, at least on my part. “I mean, I don’t know what to say.” I shrug, and now I’m the one who looks down at my food. “We were kissing.” The bile starts to rise in my throat. “And then I was about to lean down, and her tits were there, and I just was like, what the fuck are you doing?” I look up at her as she looks at me. “My head was going around and around like a spinning washing machine. I knew it was wrong, and I told her to stop, then I saw your text. She did not like the fact I said no and called me some not nice words.” I try to make a joke about it, but I’m so nervous that it doesn’t come out that way.
“Were you going to tell me?” she asks, and I nod.
“I knew I had to tell you; the guilt was eating me up. I wanted to do two things. One was tell you, and the other was to throw out my couch, which I did two weeks later.” I shake my head. “When I saw the bag…” My heart speeds up. “I think I knew then that it was the end. Even when I texted you, I knew you wouldn’t come back. I can’t even imagine what it felt like. For that, I will never forgive myself for hurting you the way I did.”
“I wanted to pretend I was fine,” she finally says, putting her fork down, “but I wasn’t. There was nothing fine. You broke my heart.” I don’t say anything because I can’t. The lump that was inside my stomach has now crawled up to my throat.
I nod before I pick up my glass of water and then take a sip. “Who was the guy?” I ask the question that has been weighing on my mind since she told me.
“No one.” She blinks away the tears. “We met in a bar, and I thought it was a good idea.” She taps the table with her index finger. “It was not. The minute I walked into his house, I knew I shouldn’t be there, but my head was telling me that I would be over you once I did it.” She smiles sadly. “My head was wrong. In fact, it made me miss you even more. I didn’t just lose you that night,” she states, and I see her wipe away a tear with her thumb, “I kind of lost my best friend.”
“I’m sorry that I made you do that,” I apologize to her, and she just nods.
“I think going forward, we should focus on what is ahead of us and not what is behind us.”
“I agree, but I also want to keep it open for you at any time if you want to talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She picks up her fork. “We both did things that we regret.”
“No,” I snap, “you didn’t do anything. I will not have you put that on your conscience. What you did with that fucking idiot.” She laughs. “There was nothing wrong with that, but what I did with—”
“That fucking idiot,” she jokes with me.
“Was wrong. I had a commitment to you,” I tell her, and she tilts her head to the side.
“But did you?” she questions me, and I glare at her. “Let’s be honest, Romeo, never at any time did we say we were in a relationship. We never even went out with other people; it was just us.” I’m about to say something, and she holds up her hand. “Yes, we spent practically every day with each other, but we never said it was exclusive.”
“It was implied when we spent practically every night together.” The anger builds up in me, and she can tell from my tone that it’s coming.
“What I’m saying is, we were both maybe too scared to put a label on it.” She smiles at me. “But now, apparently, we are in a relationship.”
“You bet your ass we are,” I snap, making her laugh.
“So if I come home and find a woman on you.” I shake my head so much and so fast I’m shocked I didn’t give myself whiplash.
“Never going to happen,” I assure her. “I would never and will never do that to you again.”
