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I begin pulling off my clothes to take a shower to wash the travel off of me when anger begins to spike in my veins.How the fuck could he do this to me? Paxton pursuedme. For months!Showing up to set under the ruse that he was coming to see some of the guys he was friends with, sending flowersconstantly, liking and commenting on my social media posts. He’d even done an interview where they’d asked about his love life and he’d explicitly said he was holding out for me. Looked straight at the camera and said, “Shay Eastwood, please go out with me.”
I believed he’d staged more than one casual run-in so we could spend the night talking and getting to know each other better. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t interested. Paxton is gorgeous and charming and talented and a laundry list of other positive attributes.
We can take loyalty off that list.
I was just busy and we had such different schedules and I was just starting to feel like myself again after losing my parents so suddenly. I wasn’t trying to throw something as unknown and unstable as a high-profile romance into the mix. So, I’d made him wait months for a date. Months for me to claim him publicly and probably a full year before I’d slept with him.
Now I’m questioning everything.Was he doing this the whole time?My fingers tingle with the urge to text him and ask him that very question.No.Don’t do it.
He’d probably lie anyway.
Paxton had been blowing up my phone since I left Canada. Texts, emails, voicemails. My boxes were full of messages of him apologizing and trying to explain. Telling me he loved me. That she didn’t mean anything. That it was just sex. It was just one time.Yeah, okay.That he was drunk. What a cliché.
By the time I get in the shower, I’m pissed. I scrub my skin almost raw as I argue with Paxton in my mind. Then I argue with Cooper. Then with my PR Team.
Then with Damian.
And I don’t miss the way my nipples harden slightly when I think about his chiseled and hard jaw clenched as his blue eyes bore into mine. I bite my bottom lip trying my best to think of my opening line of our argument when I remember how he was in Canada. I’d been on the verge of breaking down when he’d said,“You can’t cry right now. Don’t give them that.”
I don’t think he has feelings for me, but I do think that he cares for me on a different level than other clients. I think when I lost my parents, he did step into a protective role that went beyond his job, and now the lines are a little blurry because this is my first-time experiencing heartbreak and betrayal and I think he wants to beat the shit out of Paxton for that.
Not because he had feelings for me but because like my parents, he didn’t want to see anyone fucking with me.
That’s all it is.
“You sure about that?”I hear his voice in my head and instantly my nipples harden again and goosebumps erupt on my flesh. It isn’t unheard of that I get off on Damian’s protectiveness, but I am a little surprised that I feel turned on amidst this mess with Paxton. It’s something I’ve struggled with and I admit that I’ve felt a bit of shame for thinking of Damian when I touch myself while having a boyfriend, but I couldn’t help it. Sometimes it was the only thing that got me off.
“God you’re fucking beautiful, Shay. He’s an idiot,”I imagine him saying.“Don’t let that get to you. Let me touch you. I’ll make it better. You know I can,”he murmurs.
I moan thinking about him between my legs. His fingers. His tongue. His dick.
No, Shay.
Two Weeks Later
“Rise and shiiiiine!” The voice of my best friend rouses me from sleep at god knows what hour because not only am I wearing a mask over my eyes, but I’ve been sleeping with my blackout curtains which I rarely do. I hate the feeling of not knowing what time it is when I wake up and only use them in desperate times like when I’m jet lagged or have been awake for a considerable amount of time.
Or when I’m sad.
I slide my silk sleep mask up over my eyes to rest on my forehead. I can barely make out Veronica’s form as she moves through my room to one of my large floor to ceiling windows. She presses the button to open it, letting a considerable amount of light stream into the room.
“Go away,” I grumble.
“I’ve allowed you to hole up in here for the past few days, but you’re done.” She marches over to the side of the bed and puts an iced coffee on my nightstand and motions towards it. “I ordered us breakfast and if you’re feeling up to it, I made mimosas. I would love to get you out of the house, but I would settle for getting you out of this room.” She’s dressed casually in high-waisted, holey, wide-leg jeans and a tank top sporting a tan that I’m fairly certain she didn’t have the last time I saw her.
In true best friend fashion, she’d spent the first week staying with me. Ordering takeout and binge watching television shows, namelySex and the Cityto commiserate over all their terrible boyfriends. I’d let her force me into working out two of the days after I spent one day consuming nothing but cinnamon ice cream from my favorite local shop. I’d also made a visit to my physician to be tested for anything that Paxton could have potentially given me over this past year. Thankfully, I’m not leaving this relationship with any unwanted parting gifts.
Paxton is still in Canada, but he’s been calling non-stop and has sent hundreds of flowers since I left, and while the press circuit is quiet, there’s still some speculation about why I left Canada so hastily. Some theories are true, some have parts of the truth, and some were way off base, but most of them surmised that Paxton and I were on rocky terms, especially since I haven’t been spotted out anywhere.
I’m not a party girl, but I am someone that usually makes appearances at social events and I haven’t been anywhere. I sit up, reaching for the coffee, knowing that after sleeping for what felt like the past twenty hours, I probably need some caffeine.
“How are you feeling?” Veronica asks as she sits on my bed in front of me.
I’m not sure how I feel. I’ve experienced loss on such a visceral level this almost feels inconsequential. Paxton is still alive, he just isn’t going to be my boyfriend anymore. Once you go through the worst thing you can go through, it makes everything else seem not as bad. Right?
Should I be more upset?
I haven’t cried yet, surprisingly. I’m too angry, too humiliated, and just too much in shock. Those feelings haven’t reached my tear ducts yet and so I haven’t shed a tear, but I know the second I let that first one trickle down my face, I won’t know how to stop.
