I cleaned today? That’s the best I can come up with? But he looks down at me, truly looking me in the eyes for the first time tonight, and smiles softly. He grabs my hand and squeezes three times as he says, “You’re so sweet.”
And for that second, my world is right again.
But he lets go and looks away, and we’re right back where we were.
I’m so damn confused!
Finally, we reach my car. I just want to get back to his place so we can make love and I can ask him what’s really wrong. I want to talk this out, and make it better. I need to make it better.
I need him.
When I reach for the handle of the door, he leans in and brushes his lips over the edge of my mouth and backs away. He doesn’t kiss the hell out of me, or threaten to fuck me right here for the whole French Quarter to see the way he usually does.
He just backs away, and without meeting my eyes, says, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Oh. So I’m not invited back to his house.
Thrown, and at a loss, I just nod and get in the car, and without looking back, I pull away, driving blindly while tears form in my eyes. What in the ever loving hell just happened? He brushed me off, that’s for sure, but was he brushing me off for good?
Who was that?
Because it certainly wasn’t the man I know and have grown to love.
It’s a good thing it’s the middle of the night, and that traffic is pretty much non-existent because I’m not sure how I get back to Adam’s. I’m on autopilot as I park and drag myself into the condo, which is dark and empty. Adam must have gone to someone else’s place, which suits me just fine. The last thing I need tonight is to hear him fucking some girl in the next room.
This way I can have a temper tantrum in peace.
I drop my bag on the couch, kick my shoes off, and take my clothes off, dropping them as I walk into my bedroom. I don’t give a shit that I’ve just left a path of clothes from the living room to my room.
I’ll pick them up eventually.
I fall into my bed, pull the covers up to my chin, turn on my side and let the tears come. I’ve screwed everything up. Declan is so uncomfortable around me that he can’t even look at me, let alone touch me. He doesn’t want me around tonight, and I always go back to his place after work.
I’ve stayed in this room maybe a half a dozen nights since I started seeing Declan. So the fact that the tension was so thick I could cut it with a knife, and he doesn’t want me at his house, says that this is pretty much over between us.
And, oh, how it hurts.
My whole body aches as I cry it out, and when I’ve shed all the tears I have inside me, I start to get a little mad.
Or a lot mad.
I’ve had to walk on eggshells around men my whole life. I refuse to do it now. If Declan can’t handle my feelings, that’s not my problem, and I can’t regret telling him that I love him, because I do. So much.
I have to be true to myself. I deserve that, and damn it, I’m going to keep being honest with myself and everyone else in my life. I’m done pussyfooting around.
So screw Declan and his weird mood and his brushing me off.
I guess the bathroom is going to get scrubbed after all.
I climb out of bed, throw on my ragged old sweats and a T-shirt, fill my trusty bucket and get to work on the bathroom.
By the time Adam rolls through the door approximately three hours later, the rest of the condo shines.
“You’re here,” he says in surprise. His eyelids are heavy, his clothes rumpled, and his hair a mess from someone’s fingers.
“Nothing wrong with your eyes,” I reply, finally tired.
“And judging by the smell and look of the place, last night didn’t go well, huh?”
I sigh and shake my head, rinsing out the bucket. “No, it didn’t.”
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks with a yawn. He scratches his chest.
“No. I really don’t, Adam. But thanks.”
“Wanna snuggle?” he offers as he hugs me, but I can smell another woman on him, and although he isn’t mine, I still don’t like it.
“No, you smell like sex,” I say, pulling away.
“I’ll shower.”
“I really want to be left alone.”
He nods. “Okay. I’m sorry, Cal.”
I shrug. “You win some and you lose some.”
Despite the exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come easy. I toss and turn for what feels like hours before I get up and take an allergy pill that isn’t non-drowsy, and then when I do sleep, it’s fitful.
I dream of Declan, but he’s mean. He’s laughing at me as he takes another woman by the hand and walks away from me. I don’t know who the girl is, and it doesn’t matter. He wants her and not me.
Then Keith is there, saying, “I told you I’d never love you, Callie. You’re fun, but not the kind of girl someone loves.”
I shake my head, trying to run away, but my feet won’t move. Why won’t they move? I can hear people laughing, but my head is heavy. I can’t look up from my feet. I can only see lots of feet, of people standing close together, and they’re laughing.
Finally, I fight to raise my head, and everyone’s there. Adam, my father, Declan and all of his family. Keith, and the people I used to work with in Denver.
And they’re all laughing at me. I’m so embarrassed. I want to run, but my feet still won’t move, and when I look back down, I’m naked. Oh, my God! Why am I naked?