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“Thank God for that,” I say with a little more heat than I intend.
What I wish is that I didn't have these blue eyes from the man who destroyed us.
“I'm really looking forward to meeting her tomorrow.” She tips her cheek to her shoulder, her lips pulling into an adoring grin.
I continue rubbing the back of my neck, trying not to think about the fact that the photo in her hand and the shell of the woman she's about to meet tomorrow are hardly the same person.
“I mean, if that’s still what you want?” she continues softly.
“Yeah, so you can make yourself at home,” I say, brushing off the comment entirely, needing an escape. “I'm just going to clean up for this shoot.”
Her smile fades as she holds one of my most tender moments in her hands before me. She drops her eyes to the floor as she nods, placing the photo gently back on the mantle.
I grimace to myself as I get to the safe confines of the bathroom. Gripping the counter, I look up through the hair that desperately needs a trim and stare athim. Those eyes that remind me of her pain. How she could ever look at me growing up is beyond me. They’re his exact color.
Looking around at the bathroom’s gold fixtures and the massive clawfoot tub, I feel the anger rising in my chest again. Turning back to the mirror, I glare at the man who should be happy for all he has and for how far her selflessness has gotten me. I hate him for pretending for so long. I hate that somewhere deep beneath the meticulously sculpted body of an athlete, there’s still just a little boy inside.
A little boy who can't let go.
I'm a fucking mess, Dylan.
And you're about to see the worst of it.
48
Dylan
Ididn’tevenseehim before he left.
He basically ran out of the door after getting dressed, shooting me a quick,I'll be back later, before leaving me in his enormous condo. Alone.
I tried to not let it affect me, his need to change the subject when I mentioned meeting his mom, but I couldn't lie to myself. It worried me. The way his shoulders slumped with disappointment, the way his face practically winced in pain when I said she was beautiful—it haunted me.
Why is it that the closer I get, the further he seems to pull away from me? What part of his life makes him close up like this? What am I about to see?
Being that tomorrow is the big day we have planned to go over there together for Thanksgiving, I just assumed we'd talk about it. Discuss the arrangements. But his quick dismissal planted that fear in me again. The fear that as things become more real to him, me and Colin infiltrating into his life, he'll pull back. Leave us. Realizing the pieces of our puzzle just don't really fit, and I'll be back to square one with stupid hopes and a broken heart.
Instead of dwelling on it too much entirely, I do what any girl in a rich man's condo alone would—head for the food.
He told me to make myself at home. Shouldn't have told me that.
Opening the fridge doors, my eyes widen. It’s fully stocked. Ridiculously so. There's so much food in here I'm sure he could feed half the city. Most of it is healthy; vegetables, fruits, eggs, shredded chicken, turkey bacon, and more flavors of sports drinks than I ever knew existed. But my eyes zone in on the one thing that's not. Smiling to myself, I glance over my shoulder, and seeing as no one's watching or walking in anytime soon, I turn back to face it with my devilish grin deepening.
Halfway through the strawberry cheesecake tin that was once complete, I decide to continue my tour around the place, extending out from the large kitchen I've planted myself in. Slowly stalking through the expansive flat, I take in the decor and the entire mood of the condo with my pie tin in hand.
It's decorated very much like a man. Sleek, sporty, edgy, and very contemporary, with dark walls, expensive gold fixtures, and long, heavy drapes framing the large windows that dust the dark gray stained concrete floors beneath. They shine with a slick gloss from the rays of sunshine kissing them.
Aside from an enlarged mural of the city that hangs on the wall, bringing some sort of nostalgic vibe to the otherwise icy home, there’s a distinct lack of a personal touch to the space. The only thing of sentiment is the little hidden framed picture of him frowning and his mother looking proud as ever. The item that shifted his entire mood.
Encased footballs illuminated by a light beneath each of them line the wall of the hallway while a few jerseys from various teams hang in thick, heavy frames, all with his last name stitched onto them. It's a sexy place. One that I'm sure has hosted many women in its day.
Remembering the Instagram model who took her selfies here, I pause mid-chew, the fork still in my mouth. The thought has me practically throwing the pie tin across the room in disgust. I hate the idea of other women, definitely women far finer than me, having walked up and down these halls in barely there lingerie or even naked after a romp in the sheets with the famous football star. Pain shoots through my chest and the feeling settles somewhere in my frown.
I’m heading down the hallway towards what seems to be the bathroom when I spot two large oval mirrors on the wall inside. Never have I seen myself as this shallow girl who cares about looks and beauty, but it's practically impossible not to when you're falling in love with a man who could, and probably has, bedded many of the best-looking women from around the globe.
Ugh. Since when did I become this insecure idiot who needs validation?!
I rub at the bags under my eyes, pinching my cheeks to give them a little color, then frown at the mess of a ponytail I'm rocking. I'm a joke. A sweaty, stale joke. Pulling the hair tie out, I drop it on the large black marble counter before me and turn my back against it, leaning back as I take in the luxurious room.
