Defeated, I flop back on the mattress behind me and put my hands behind my head as I try to make sense of what just went down. Was I justified in rejecting her? Because if the ache in my balls is any indication, they aren’t too happy with my decision.
“Fuck.” I blow out a breath as I scrub my hand over my face before staring at the stars above me. The certainty I had that she was playing me is no longer there. And I always trust my gut, so why is it twisting right now from pushing her away and accusing her of using sex when she’s denied it over and over in regard to the first time we slept together?
And I think the part that’s getting me the most – that little fuck-you lift to her chin, the one that says she’s being defiant and defensive, never showed its face. Instead, I was granted a glimpse of a woman hurt from unexpected rejection with a touch of insecurity and vulnerability thrown in there.
The look on her face runs through my mind in loops, confusing me and calling to me all at once.
Guess it’s time for this pawn to move past its zone of protection and face the queen.
Chapter 10
T
his is so fucked up.
Once again I find myself searching Beaux out to… what? Apologize? Make sure she is okay? Spend more time trying to figure out what’s hidden behind that tough facade that I catch a glimpse of every once in a while?
Damn woman is going to drive me insane.
My knuckles rap on her door and the sound echoes in the quiet corridor, but this time I can hear music on the other side of it, so I know she’s in there.
“Go away.” Her voice is muffled, but I can still make out what she says.
“C’mon, Beaux… We need to talk.”
There’s no response this time, and so I rest my head against the door. I’ve got to try to fix whatever the hell I need to fix here, because not only have I gone from needing to break in a new photographer, but now I’ve added to that trying to figure out the irrefutable connection we have.
What’s causing me to blame Beaux for tugging on those strings inside me that at the end of the day I want left knotted and impenetrable because once they start to unravel, I can never seem to stop them? Even though I know that about myself, I can’t seem to control it.
I used to try and convince Stella that it was this environment, as well as the experience of being on location for extended periods, that caused everything to be expedited: feelings, reactions, a sense of urgency. Adrenaline becomes a new aphrodisiac when you meet someone against this backdrop. She’d just laugh at me and call me a paradox: the alpha male who loved the thought of falling in love.
She was right… at least when it came to the first few months or so. Then it usually turned to shit because work always took precedence for me. Relationships had always been fun while they lasted, but no one, and I mean no one, has ever made me think for one iota of a second of hanging up my credentials. The day that happens will be the day I know love from lust.
In the life of a foreign war correspondent, chances to distance yourself from the harsh reality of the modern world are few and far between (if they occur at all), so it’s not hard to recognize why it’s so easy for me to fall for someone while we’re ensconced in this self-imposed bubble. The lifestyle in the hotel where all the journalists reside is all about the status quo. It’s not like stateside where you and the person you are dating go to work separately, hang with friends or have individual hobbies, and then see each other occasionally on the weekend. No, here on the fringe of civilization, you live, work, breathe, and socialize with the person you’re interested in. It breeds an intensity between two people that’s unrivaled, an acceleration of feelings equivalent to months of dating when you’ve only been together for a few weeks.
And the fact that I’m thinking all of this with my head pressed to her hotel room door because I feel bad I pushed her away and hurt her feelings proves all of my overly introspective thinking right.