The tone always turns flirty, with a strong undercurrent of desire, but he makes no indication that he wants me to come over. Sunday night goes by, and Monday, and Tuesday. Carolyn tells me he’s at the Swan most nights, but she can’t tell if he’s taking a date with him or not. The woman I met that first time, Melody, is in some photos with him in the tabloids, but they’re never touching—Christian walks ahead of her like he doesn’t even see her.
Well, he’s a grown man. He can do whatever the fuck he wants, as much as it stings.
Meanwhile, the messages keep coming.
Where are your parents from?
Michigan
Is that where you grew up?
Yeah, right in the middle.
What’s it like there?
It’s a few bigger cities surrounded by farmland. Everyone vacations up north Should I go?
With me or alone?
Haha
It’s not that he’s disappeared. In fact, he does the opposite. He leans into my PR plan so aggressively that he even starts coming up with events to attend without me.
It makes me a little nervous that I don’t have control over all of his appearances, but what can I do about it? Nothing. His free time belongs to him.
I wish more of it belonged to me. Then again…
I see him just about every other day for our scheduled planning meetings. He sits across the desk from me, his eyes loitering over the curves of my body beneath the suit, the same smoldering half-smile on his face, but he doesn’t lean over to whisper something filthy in my ear to make me wet right to the core. Then, on the way out, he’ll catch me at the door, press me up against the wall, and kiss me like it’s going to save him from drowning.
It’s like we’ve gone back to the 1950s, but with cell phones. Suddenly, sex at his apartment is off the table completely—at least, he never mentions it. Suddenly, we’re stealing kisses in the back of the Town Car, but when we reach our destination, he’s distracted, disengaged.
I so badly want to ask him what the fuck is going on, but I can’t. I can handle it if he’s not into me anymore—if all of that was just a fling, a fun distraction from real life—but I don’t want to hear it. Not yet.
I decide to give myself until the house sells. When I’m finally free of it, I’ll ask Christian what’s going on.
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?
Somewhere with great Wi-Fi
That’s it?!?
That’s my big requirement. I can do cities or small towns The real question is…what are you going to do there?
There’s a lot I’d like to do
I know
After the second media appearance, I feel jittery and distracted. I spent the entire time analyzing Christian’s every glance at me. I get into the car and immediately his hands are on my face, pulling me toward him, devouring my mouth, savoring the flavor of our kiss.
It feels so fucking good, so fucking right, that I don’t think to call a halt to it and demand to know what the texting is about, demand to know why he hasn’t taken me back to his place, demand to know where he stands on all of this. On us.
I don’t understand this game we’re playing.
Has he already moved on?
Was one time enough with me?
The doubt takes root and begins to flourish even as the messages keep coming, even while we have daylong conversations listing off the smallest details of our lives.
Though the contractors finish the repairs in the basement, it takes another week and a half to have it painted. There’s a problem with the roof, and Sherrie thinks it’s becoming a deal breaker for interested parties. If I could just do some minor repairs in that area as well…
It frustrates me, but not as much as this bizarrely deep line of questioning from Christian. The fact that he wants to know so much about me is something I can’t figure out. I like that he wants to know these things. I like that he sees me as a person and not just a fuck toy. But why the sudden change in gears? Why via text?
After three weeks, my house hasn’t sold, but I’m done.
I don’t understand what he’s doing, and when I’ve tried to guide the conversation there, he avoids it.
It’s almost midnight on a Wednesday when I finally tell him that I can’t do it anymore.
I send the text with shaking fingers and a pounding heart.
I want the heat between us.
I want the sex.
I want the domination.
I don’t want endless text messages.
I can’t keep having this conversation Immediately, a bubble pops up on my screen. He’s writing back.
My stomach turns over.
I can’t either. Open the front door What the fuck?
I stand up from the couch, throwing the blanket that rested over my legs over the arm of the chair, and pad across the silent apartment to the front door. Carolyn went to bed early, exhausted from putting in too many hours today at her boutique. She needs to hire some more help, if you ask me. She can afford it. There’s no reason to burn herself out.
I’m so tightly wound that my throat feels restricted.
I unlock the door and pull it open.
Christian stands in the hall, his hair damp from walking from his car to our building in the rain.
“Come in.” I incline my head, ushering him into the entryway. Then I close and lock the door behind him. “Let’s go to my room. Carolyn is sleeping.”