by Penny Blake
“Can we talk?” I ask sadly, crossing my arms.
“Anything for you, December,” he says. He opens the door and I see that the TV is turned to an episode of The Real Housewives. He quickly shuts it off, then sits on the couch. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Us.” I sit on the other end, putting a safe distance between us. “I need to know where we stand. I felt really bad after the way you left the other night, and I just…I need to know what I mean to you. Am I just another fuck buddy or am I something more?”
“Of course you’re something more. You’ve always been very special to me—“
“You know what I mean, Rio. Do you see me as some chick you’re banging, or as your girlfriend?”
He looks at me squarely, then says, “Honestly?”
“Yes, please be honest. It doesn’t need to be nice or what I want to hear. It just needs to be true.”
He stares at me for a long moment, as if I’m an interesting piece of fruit he’s inspecting. “You’re not just some chick I’m banging. I care about you more than I want to admit, even to myself.” My heart soars. “But I don’t do girlfriends. Not now, not ever.”
My heart isn’t quite soaring anymore, but it hasn’t sunk yet. Instead it teeters on the edge of a precipice, unsure which way to go.
“What do you mean you ‘don’t do girlfriends’? What are we then?”
As if answering my question, his cell phone pings on the coffee table. It’s closer to me, and when I glance at it, I see a photo of a woman’s cleavage pop up. No face, no body, just cleavage in a leopard print bra.
I grab it and see that Cleavage’s name is Carmella, and there’s an incoming text from her:
C U 2nite baby. Been missing that big dick of yours…and that talented tongue. Xoxo
And then my heart plummets. I feel the sensation of the ground being ripped out from underneath me, and I’m falling. My stomach drops and all I can hear is the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Then it’s as if all the wind is knocked out of me and I can’t breathe.
I hand the phone to Rio with a shaking hand. He gives the message a cursory look, then sets the phone back down on the coffee table.
After a minute, he leans over and puts his hand on my knee.
I push it away. “So I guess this means we’re not exclusive. You and your talented tongue are still on the prowl.” I hear a weird, high-pitched laugh come out of my mouth. “Funny because I just assumed we were exclusive. I figured after everything we shared, you wouldn’t have any desire to run around with skanks.” I laugh again, but stop when it threatens to turn into tears. “I’m such an idiot.”
“No you’re not. This is my fault. I knew this was going to happen—“
“Of course you did. You even warned me. You said you were bad news and that you would cause me a whole world of hurt. And you were right—you were so right. Why didn’t I listen?” A big gasping sob escapes me and I bury my head in my hands so he can’t see me cry.
“God damn it, I’m such an asshole!” he says. “I knew this would happen. I knew you’d want more. You’re a sweet, loving girl, December. You have so much love to give, and I knew you’d want to give it to me if we started fucking.”
“Stop saying that! I used to think it was so hot when you said that you were going to fuck me, but now it’s disgusting, because that’s all I ever was to you. Just a fuck. And man did you fuck me.” I slap the spot over my heart. “You fucked me over so fucking hard.”
He takes my hands in his, holding them tight so I can’t pull away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It kills me to see you crying and know I’m the one who caused it. I’d rather take this pain on myself a thousand times over than make you feel this way. But I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t want to lead you on or make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
I bury my head in my hands again and let out a few big sobs, then try to press my sorrow back, taking a deep, gasping breath.
“I’m sorry, December,” he says softly. “I can’t give you what you need.”
We sit in silence for a few moments. When I look at him, he’s staring miserably at his empty hands. The despair in his eyes surprises me, and gives me hope.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, standing up to pace and collect my thoughts. “Here’s what I think.” My nose is stuffed up, but my voice is strong and steady. “I think that what I’ve been feeling for you is real, and you feel it too. You just don’t want to admit it because it scares the hell out of you. I think you’re royally screwed up from your past. You’re afraid to get too close to anyone because you might lose them, or maybe—maybe you even think you’re like you’re father, and that you’re not worthy of someone loving you.
You told me once that you’re a bad guy. But you know what I see? I see a guy who mentors little kids in the Big Brothers program because you want them to have a chance. I see a guy who found a dying cat by a garbage can and nursed it back to health and gave it a home. And I see a guy who met a fat chick at a gym who was so sad, and so alone, and you cared enough to make her—me—the best possible version of myself. And I am so grateful to you, Rio. Now I want to help you be the best version of yourself, because I know in my heart that you’re a great person, and a great man, and that we would be even better together. Don’t you feel it too?”
I wipe the tears off my cheeks and wait for Rio to respond. But he just continues to look down at his empty hands, a dead look in his eyes.
“If you’ll have me, I’d love to be your girlfriend. But I need you to tell Carmella and any other chicks you’re still talking to to buzz off.” I gesture at the phone on the table. “Because no matter what your issues are, I deserve that. I’m worthy of being someone’s one and only, and I can’t settle for anything less. And even if you can’t bring yourself to tell me you love me now, I need to know that you can…someday.” I sniff and wipe my eyes, but he doesn’t move.
Finally he looks up and meets my gaze, but his eyes are filled with sorrow. ”I’m sorry, December.” He shakes his head. “You deserve better than this, better than me.”
“Then be better, Rio. Please…”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not ready, and I never will be.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re wasting your time, December. Go home and forget any of this ever happened. We made a mistake, that’s all. I can’t pretend this is something it’s not. Not even for you.’”
The pain I feel on the drive home from is somehow even more excruciating than what I felt after being dumped at the altar. It’s sharper, heavier and more crushing. Maybe it’s because my relationship with Rio has been so hard and fast and intense. Both the high of being with him, and now the aftermath. Or maybe it’s because he was my second chance at love. He’d come into my life after I’d been utterly destroyed, and he made me hope again. Helped me patch up heart my shattered heart only to crush it even worse, the damage now irreparable.
The pain comes in waves, dark and furious. Three times I have to pull over to sob uncontrollably before finally reaching home.
When I step out of the car, another wave of grief hits me and I almost sink to my knees. Instead, I brace myself against the car, wracked with sobs before finally rushing toward my apartment where I can cry in private.
And that’s when I run smack into Drew standing at my apartment door.
Chapter 25
Lifeline
Drew doesn’t say a word, just wraps his arms around me and rubs my back in gentle circles while I sob against his chest. I hug him as hard as I can and cry and cry and cry. It’s amazing how much pain I have inside me. I cling to him like a lifeline.
I don’t say a word about what happened. I physically don’t have it in me to speak. But he just seems to know.
He picks me up in his arms and carries me into the apartment. Then into my bedroom, where he lays me on the bed and holds me.
Lying together like two spoons, he strokes
my hair until I fell asleep in his arms.
The next morning, Drew makes me a plate of bacon and puts on the most ridiculous movies he can find. I spend the day on the couch watching Stop Or My Mom Will Shoot, Sharknado, I Know Who Killed Me, Valley Girl and Step Brothers. At one point, I even find myself laughing when Will Ferrell rubs his balls on John C. Reilly’s beloved drum set, something I never thought I’d do again (laughing, not rubbing someone’s balls on a drum set).
Drew never asks what happened with Rio and I still don’t feel like talking about it. I just rest my head on his shoulder while we sit on the couch watching terrible movies together. When Step Brothers is over, I look up at him and say, “Thanks for not telling me I told you so.”
He responds by holding up a fist, and I give it a bump. Then he puts on Serial Mom and orders a pizza with mushrooms and extra cheese, my favorite.
As the day wears on and I’m on the verge of falling into a junk food coma, I thank Drew for staying with me.
“You can go home anytime you want,” I say. “I’m sure you have stuff to do, and I’m not going to kill myself or anything. Thanks to you…and Will Ferrell’s balls. Do you think those were his actual balls?”
“Doubt it,” he says, picking a stray mushroom off my comforter and setting it aside. “It was probably a prosthetic. I don’t think he’d show his real balls for a movie.”
“Huh. That would be a weird job, making prosthetic balls.”
“Yeah,” Drew says half heartedly, then, “Ember, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what?”
“Where the hell is your sister?”
Ember’s story concludes in
THE PRETTY SISTER
Coming soon!
For details email [email protected]
Penny Blake is a kindergarten teacher by day and an avid romance reader and writer by night. In her spare time, she teaches yoga to the visually impaired and attempts to master her recipe for the world’s best German Chocolate cake. She lives in the country with her fiancé and rescue dog, Mino.
