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I slide out of the bed in my underwear, not wanting to wake her. I don't need any small talk right now. I want to make this as quick and painless as possible. Walking over to the kitchen, I pick up my phone and place an order for room-service breakfast.
"Ah, Mr. Logan, the usual? Scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, coffee... and your signature rose?"
"You know me too well, George."
"Hard not to." His words are heavy with implication. "You have a reputation, sir. One might say you're our most frequent... breakfast requester."
I'm used to the friendly banter. George and I go way back. "I should start a loyalty card system. Every tenth breakfast free. What do you think?"
George laughs. "I'll suggest it to the management, sir. Your order will be up shortly."
I hang up, grinning despite it being way too fuckin' early to be dealing with this kind of stuff.
As I wait for the breakfast to arrive, I find myself pacing, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. My gaze drifts back to Aliyah's perfectly sculpted eyes. She's gorgeous. Yet, there's no spark, no burning desire.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
You're never going to find what you're looking for.
You could have any damn woman in this city and you can't find one that does the trick?
Maybe you're the problem.
The breakfast arrives, breaking my train of spiraling thoughts.
Time to end this charade.
Aliyah wakes as I set the tray on the bed. She flashes a sleepy smile, completely oblivious to the storm brewing within me.
"Aliyah," I start, my voice steady and calm. "We need to talk."
She shifts around in my bed, trying to get her thoughts together. "About what?"
"I... I think we need to stop seeing each other."
Her sleepy smile fades, replaced with a look of surprise. "What're you talking about, Logan?"
I try to soften the blow. "It's not you, Aliyah..." I pause, knowing full well how cliché my next words will sound. "It's me."
Her eyes narrow, "You're joking right?"
"I wish I was."
That's a lie.
I reach into the bedside drawer, grabbing a red shoe box. I place it into her hands. "Here... have these," I say.
She opens the box, revealing a pair of shiny new Louboutins. Despite the situation, her eyes light up at the sight of the red soles. "Logan, these are..."
"Aliyah, I hope you understand," I say, hoping that this gesture will be enough to keep her from stirring the pot as others women have done in the past.
PTSD hits me for a moment.
I shake my head.
She gives me a long, hard look, but nods, accepting the shoes.
I knew these would do the trick.
