The Do Over

The Do Over - By A. L. Zaun


I stood with my arms crossed in the dimly lit doorway, watching him. Even in the dark, I could make out his features. His dark brown hair was tousled, and his unshaven face had that perfect stubble. He made disheveled look delicious. I couldn't help but grin.

The only light came off the television as he watched a World War II movie. We'd fought last night like we'd never fought before, and I hated it. The tension was still thick between us. We'd spent most of the day in our separate corners, nursing our wounds. Well, at least I did. Although he'd broken my heart, I wanted to somehow bridge the gap and make things right.

While he was lying comfortably on the chaise lounge, I desperately wanted to crawl into his lap and nestle against his chest. I needed to feel close to him. I wanted his arms around me with his lips on my mouth.

Shifting in his seat, he looked over at me. I waited for his dimpled smile, the one that would be my invitation to join him, but it never came. Wanting to make things right, I walked into the room and sat in the chair, facing him.

"Cariño, this isn't working for me," he said impassively before he resumed watching his movie.

"What?" I asked, sitting up straight. "What are you talking about? What isn't working for you?"

My eyes were trained on his immobile profile. With confusion now added to my heartbroken state, emotions swirled as my heart rate soared. I wanted to grab the remote out of his hand and hit him over the head with it. At the same time, I wanted to slide into his lap and feel him close to me. I wanted to curse him and love him. I exhaled slowly, trying to bring down my heart rate, as I cleared my head.

I knew I'd been kissing a frog for the past year, but I had faith that he'd turn into a prince. He had so much potential, and our connection was electric and intense.

He lowered the volume just a bit. When he turned toward me, his eyes met mine. "We're just too different." He shrugged his shoulders slightly.

I jerked back at the sound of his words. My eyes popped while my mouth dropped in shock. Is this his excuse? Seriously? I'd put up with a lot of his shit. Isn't that just part of life? People would f*ck up and then work it out and then have make-up sex. Sex had been the cure-all for whatever ailed us. It had been the glue that bonded us together. Three times a day, we'd have toe-curling, eyes-rolling, intense, and totally hot sex. And now, he was throwing away our relationship because of a fight. I wasn't about to admit defeat.

While bombs exploded in the background as the Americans invaded France, I pleaded, "Rick, please." I spoke slowly to steady my shaking voice. "You have to give me something better than 'we're different.' We've always been different. You know that you're the yin to my yang. We balance each other. We pull one another out of our comfort zones. It works great for us."

Our entire relationship—the good, the bad, and this ugly—flashed before my eyes. Why am I trying to save us when he's giving up so easily? I love him and want to be with him, that's why. Even though my friends would disagree, it wasn't always bad. It was intense, and when it was good, it was incredibly great. But when it wasn't…well, every single one of my insecurities surfaced. I wasn't expecting any of this from him.

"Yeah, I know," he deadpanned, glancing in my direction. "But it's just not working for me. You know, the sex is great. It's probably the best I've ever had, and that's saying a lot. I've had great sex before. Sex with you is really amazing, but it's just not happening for me. I want it to work. You're perfect on paper. You're everything I've ever wanted, Cariño, but it's just not here." He slapped his hand over his heart.

What the hell just happened? Unable to look at him, I turned away. I didn't want him to see the hurt in my eyes, so I stared at the television. Blood and guts splattered all over Normandy. The scene seemed very fitting for what was happening between us. Everything slowed down for me at that moment as the betrayal burrowed deeper in my heart.

I was a hopeless romantic. I knew from the moment I'd laid eyes on him that he was complicated. I'd seen through his act, and I hadn't bought his sales pitch. I had played hard to get, but he had been relentless. I knew he'd get right under my skin the instant I'd given him an opening.

He was arrogant, slightly entitled, and very spoiled. He had an opinion on everything. He could be the world's biggest a*shole. He had commitment issues and never entered any obligation that tied him down for too long. "After all," he'd say, "you never know when something better might come along." The only thing he focused on was his career, but that, too, would be short lived. Soon, he'd have to forego his independence and assume his role in his family's company.

Aside from all of that though, there was no denying that he was charming, sexy, and gorgeous. He had charisma and the gift of persuasion. With one flash of his smile or a wink from his hazel eyes, I'd be putty in his hands.

I had fallen in love with him. He'd been the complicated guy looking for a good girl to inspire him to settle down, and I'd been the good girl looking for a challenge. I'd wanted a project, and he'd been more than willing to oblige. We were a match made in a dysfunctional heaven, and it worked perfectly for us. At least, that had been the case for the last year until the fight. I didn't care that he'd been wrong, and I'd been right.

Snapping out of it, I stood in a daze. "What's not working for you? What the hell are you talking about?" Overcome with a surge of anger, I grabbed the remote and turned off the damn television. "Less than twenty-four hours ago, you had your dick inside of me, and we were planning a trip. Now, you're telling me that it's suddenly not working for you. Why? Because we had a fight? I don't believe you!" I shouted at him. "Couples fight. If we didn't fight, we wouldn't be healthy!"

Who am I kidding? We'd never been a healthy couple, but that didn't matter. I was desperate.

I drew in a calming breath, but it was no use. I shouted, "You can't tell me that you're throwing everything away because we had a fight! I asked you for one thing. One! That's not a lot to ask. It was just one thing, and you knew how I felt about it. Did that stop you from rubbing it in my face? No! Now, you're done with me because you did the only thing I asked you not to do." Adrenaline was pumping through me, and I couldn't stay in my seat. I stood over him, wanting to strangle him. My lips quivered as my eyes narrowed. My emotions pulled me in a million directions.

Then, something shifted. I wasn't mad, angry, or frustrated. As insecurity reared her ugly head, my expression went blank. My heart sank to the floor. Taking a step back, I glared at him. Suddenly, everything made sense. That bastard.

"This isn't about our fight or even that we're different," I mumbled.

The fight was significant, but it wasn't something to break up over.

"This isn't about us. It's because of her, isn't it?" Any resolve to hold it together was lost. My legs weakened while my hands trembled as I braced the back of the chair.