Ground Rules: Rewritten

by Roya Carmen

  Gabe smiles at me and I can’t help but laugh. “French, French. Please stop.”

  She smiles. “And for you, handsome? I beg you to make my life easy,” she pleads with a sly smile.

  Is she flirting with him? Probably. Everyone does.

  Gabe grins. “I’ll have the ribs and wings special with the potato wedges, please.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers with a smile just for him, and turns on her heel.

  “It never fails.”

  “What?” he asks.

  “You and the ladies.”

  He smiles. “You know you never have to worry.”

  I bite my lip, and look off into the distance. “Just when it comes to Bridget.”

  He sits up straight. “No. Not even when it comes to her.”

  I want him to tell me the truth. “Why did you change your mind so fast? One minute, you were going on about Weston and what a complete asshole he was. And the next, you’re telling me you’re ready for another go. You did a complete one-eighty. It makes me wonder.”

  He rakes a hand through his hair and looks away. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I was being a bit possessive. We talked for a while, and she made me see things in another light.”

  “I bet she did,” I scoff.

  He smiles. “It wasn’t like—”

  “What was she wearing?”

  He pauses to look at me. “Uh…a tight black dress.”

  “Short too, I bet.”

  He laughs and takes a swig of his beer. “Yes, it was ridiculously short and her heels were crazy high.”

  I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “Wow! She wasn’t pulling any punches.”

  “No, she wasn’t,” he says, suddenly serious. “And neither is Weston.”

  He’s right.

  We sit in silence for a beat.

  Gabe drags his finger along his glass. “Are we crazy?”

  I ponder his question for a second. “Yeah, I think we are.”

  Why else would we putting ourselves through this again? The drama, the risks, the heartbreak?

  I shift in my chair, not quite looking at him. “Weston and I are meeting this Friday,” I finally admit. “I told him it was strictly business. I just want to talk. See where he stands.” I feel a pain in my gut as I say the next words. “I want to revise some of the terms. I want more control.”

  Gabe swallows hard. “Did you make a decision? You want to be with him again?” he asks, looking at me with those big puppy-dog eyes of his. He’s breaking my heart.

  But he said he wanted the truth.

  I clear my throat, working out my answer. “We’re just meeting to talk. I don’t know. I’m still so drawn to him physically,” I admit. “I feel horrible about it.”

  He stares down at his beer and doesn’t say a word. Neither do I.

  Say something.

  Finally, he looks up at me again. “Don’t. I don’t want to hold on to you too tight, Ella,” he says, his voice cracking at the edges. “You’ll resent me.”

  “No.” I could never resent him.

  The waitress barges in, and plops Gabe’s gigantic plate of food in front of him. My cheeseburger and salad quickly follow. “Enjoy,” she says and she leaves us in a rush.

  Gabe digs into his ribs. “That girl sure doesn’t have the best timing.”

  I smile at him, just before venturing a bite of my cheeseburger. “Well at least, she brings food.”

  We enjoy our meals without another word, buried in the energy and sounds of the busy restaurant. My thoughts drift to images of Bridget draped all over him in her little tiny black dress. I know nothing happened. Gabe would never, without permission. And I think about Weston and I in his car, me in those horribly embarrassing monkey covered flannel pajamas. Actually, upon further reflection, it was probably best I wasn’t wearing a tight little black dress. Who knows what could have happened.

  Gabe drops his knife and fork, his gestures sudden. He fixes me, his eyes dark. “But for the life of me, Mirella, I swear, if he hurts you. If he makes one false move. I’ll kill the bastard,” he says, with no preamble whatsoever. I almost choke on my burger.

  Once I’ve managed to get my bite of burger down, I sit up and lean in to look at him closer. “He wouldn’t hurt me. He’s not a bad man. You know that.”

  He stares down at his plate. “He hurt you when he ended it. He completely blindsided you.”

  He’s right. He did.

  He shoots a look up at me. “They never even told us why they broke things off. I asked Bridget and she told me it was his decision, but even she didn’t know why.”

  I know why.

  “Did he ever give you an explanation?”

  I can’t answer him. He can’t know. It will hurt him too much. And he’ll never let me see him again.

  The waitress practically bounds in, all smiles. “So, how is everything folks?”

  Oh my. Good timing, Colette. You’re my new best friend.

  “It’s great. Your burgers are amazing,” I tell her, hoping to keep her around for a while. “Can you tell us about all the desserts?”

  “Sure,” she says. And she starts…“Triple fudge cake, strawberry cheesecake, pecan pie, raspberry pie, coconut pie, caramel swirl brownie, hot fudge sundae…”

  Chapter Five

  …are we still playing this game?

  THE RESTAURANT FEELS COZY with its warm textures and charming tile covered walls. It’s perfect for a cold February night. I chose this place because I wanted a casual ambience. The last thing I need is a swanky romantic restaurant, I have a few things to get off my chest and I don’t need to be swayed by romantic candlelight. I’m sure it will be hard enough keeping my hands off Weston to begin with.

  I’ve been driving myself insane these past few days, thinking about this meeting, or “date,” I’m not sure what to call it. I’ve obsessed over all the things I want to say. I even made myself a list. I’ve memorized it, but the sheet of paper sits in my purse as a backup. I’ve certainly come prepared.

  I spot Weston as he comes in, dressed in the same dark wool jacket he wore the last time I saw him. He rubs his hands together as he takes in the place. When his gaze finally falls on me, a smile lights up his face.

  He leans in to give me a quick awkward kiss on the cheek that somehow manages to be very sweet. “Sorry I’m late.”

  I’ve only been waiting about a minute. If Weston is anything, it is punctual. “I just got here myself.”

  We are ushered to a table. I sit on the bench while he takes the chair. Our jackets are off, our hands are still cold, and our nerves are shot. He looks as anxious as I feel. But he’s as gorgeous as ever in a thick brown ribbed turtleneck. He looks so snugly. Part of me wants to reach out and hug him and…

  I smile, looking up at the high ceiling, reminding myself to settle down. I must stick to the plan.

  He orders a glass of Riesling, and I opt for a cool lemon-cucumber soda. We peruse the menu and quickly select our meals. We make small talk about our families and we even talk about the weather as we wait for our food. “What a miserable day,” I point out, mortified that we’ve been reduced to weather talk. I knew this meeting might be awkward, but I had no idea just how awkward.

  The waiter comes back with our food and I’m glad for the interruption. This isn’t going quite as planned. As soon as he leaves us, I tell Weston what’s on my mind—or rather, what’s not.

  “Just so you know,” I say, all business. “There will be no sex tonight,” I clarify, digging into my poutine.

  A grin stretches across his face. He’s thoroughly amused again. “Yes, you’ve mentioned…strictly business.”

  “You don’t think I’m serious?”

  He smiles again. “No, I do,” he says, that devilish smirk getting to me. “I think you truly believe what you’re saying. You seem to have good intentions.”

  He’s so arrogant. I almost want to walk out, but my poutine is way too good.

  “Seri
ously though, we need to talk.” I respond, poking at the cheese curds on my fries.

  He smiles at me, burger in hand. “Sure. Go on.”

  He doesn’t seem to have much to say. How could he have nothing to say?

  “First off, I need to know something,” I say, wanting to talk about the one thing that’s been gnawing at me. “When I told you I loved you, you were so upset and you acted like it was Armageddon. And now, you tell me you love me with no care in the world. Like it doesn’t matter at all?”

  He sighs a little and puts his burger down. “I loved you back then, but I convinced myself I didn’t because I couldn’t love you. It was against all my principles,” he explains. “But now I’ve realized that it doesn’t matter. I’m in love with you. I can’t deny that anymore. And I can’t be without you. Lord knows I’ve tried to get you out of my system, but I can’t. This leaves me with two options; start this up again, just as before, or go mad.”

  He’s rendered me speechless again.

  “The thing is, the way I feel about you doesn’t change a thing,” he continues. “My loyalties still remain with Bridget and the kids. Bridget doesn’t have to know how I feel. It’s best that way.”

  “But isn’t that cheating?” I ask. “Emotional cheating?”

  He ponders my question for a second or two. “Perhaps, but I have no control over my emotions. I’ve always thought I did, but as it turns out, I don’t.”

  His words get to me. This is exactly how I feel—like I’m completely without control.

  “So rule number five is out the window?”

  “Not really. We have feelings for each other. We just shouldn’t dwell on them.”

  We shouldn’t dwell on them? This isn’t dirt on my shoe, for crying out loud. I’m going to dwell on it. I’ll dwell on it until it has been completely dwelled on, and dissected to bits. “Pretend this is just sex, still?”

  “Yes,” he says, serious.

  “So, we’re just ‘fuck buddies,’ still?”

  He rolls his eyes and looks around. Thankfully the place isn’t too busy tonight. God forbid, someone might witness vulgar language in his vicinity.

  “I don’t think we should kiss anymore,” I add, knowing I’m being kind of ridiculous. “It’s too intimate.”

  He stifles a laugh. “Sure,” he says. Obviously, humoring me.

  “I know it’s all very Pretty Woman of me and all, but I think it’s a good idea. No more pillow talk, no more kissy-kissies.”

  He shakes his head, a huge smile practically splitting his face in two. “Fair enough, Mirella.”

  He doesn’t take me seriously at all. I’m just trying to work out this situation, make the best of it. It seems I’m the only one who’s concerned. “I’m serious.”

  “Me too,” he says, but he stills wears that intolerable smirk.

  “Also, I’d like more control. From now on, I’m in charge. I call you. I text you. I tell you when I want to see you. You listen like a good boy and do what I say.” He laughs out loud, and I’m not impressed. Not impressed at all. “You have a problem with that?”

  “Not at all. Be my guest. You plan everything from now on. I’ll just show up. You get your own transportation. I’ll be completely hands-off.”

  “I drove myself here today,” I point out cattily.

  “And how was it?”

  It was hell. The rain was coming down in sheets, the roads were slick, parking was a bitch. But I don’t want to tell him that. I clear my throat. “It was fine.”

  He eyes me, his beautiful brow perked up in suspicion. “And we’ll go Dutch, of course,” he adds with a smile.

  What an arrogant bastard.

  I really want to leave. But he draws me in. I’ve been trying not to look at his eyes, but I can’t seem to pull my gaze away now.

  I sigh, knowing I’ve been defeated. “My point is,” I try to explain. “I’m not just a slot in your calendar. I’m not an appointment with your optometrist.”

  “No, you are definitely not a slot. And you’re much more attractive than my optometrist. He’s really not my type,” he teases.

  “I’m serious, Weston. We’re friends, aren’t we? I want you to treat me like a friend, not like your personal high-class escort.”

  His smile fades. “I’m sorry. We are friends. I enjoy spending time with you, sex notwithstanding. All four of us are friends. And you’re right, we should start acting like it.”

  I’m shocked by his words. He’s being so agreeable.

  “I’ve messed this up before. And I’m not going to do that again. I can’t lose you again. From now on, I will treat you with the utmost consideration. You can contact me any time in relation to our dates, give me your input. You can call or text me when you deem it appropriate. You can choose our destinations. I’ll take you anywhere. I’ll even take you to Paris if you wish. I just want to make you happy. It’s all I want…to make you as happy as you make me.”

  I drop my fork, surprised by his words. He seems different somehow, more laid-back. I like this new version of him. But still, I’m determined to take it slow, even if all I want to do is rip that chocolate turtleneck off. “You’re still not getting any action tonight, Mister.”

  He smiles. “Oh, that has yet to be determined, my Lady.”

  “Well, thank you for dinner,” I say, slipping into my pink pea coat. “I’ll be on my way.” I know he won’t be happy with this, but I’m determined to show some restraint and take it slow. If Gabe can resist Bridget in her little black dress, I can certainly resist Weston too.

  He smiles. “That’s all for us tonight?”

  “Yes,” I reply as my gaze sweeps over his tall dark frame. I admit it, part of me wants to climb him like a tree. “I’ll contact you about our next date.”

  “Fair enough,” he says, his smile not fading. “We’ll see.” He seems to think I’m playing hard to get.

  He follows me outside. It’s pouring rain, dark and cold, but thankfully not too windy. I pop open my umbrella. I look over at him. He doesn’t have one. I smile at him in an invitation to join me under the cherry covered fabric.

  “Mr. On-Top-Of-It-All hasn’t come prepared tonight?”

  “Oh, I’ve come prepared,” he says, with a mischievous smirk. “Just not for the rain.”

  I smile, knowing very well what he’s implying.

  He takes the umbrella with one hand, and with the other, he grabs my waist. He’s so close, I can smell his wine-tinged breath. I can feel his heat. I want to kiss him. “I was serious,” I remind him.

  “Oh,” he says, a smile playing on his lips, “are we still carrying on with this little charade?”

  “What charade?”

  “As much as I enjoy playing this little cat and mouse game,” he says, pressing me even closer to him, “I know what you want. And I’m pretty certain I know where we’re heading.”

  He’s right, I do want him. But I can’t. “We’re not heading anywhere in particular,” I say, my tone all business. “I’m walking to my car and going home.”

  “You are quite amusing. This act of yours is thoroughly entertaining, but you couldn’t be more transparent.”

  “How so?”

  “This restaurant—which you chose—is conveniently just around the corner from my place,” he says, and even in the dim light, his eyes seem to darken. “How very handy. Just a short walk to my bed.”

  “What? I’m familiar with this neighborhood, and I like the poutine,” I argue.

  “Sure, Mirella,” he says with a smirk.

  He’s so arrogant I can barely tolerate it anymore.

  I grab the umbrella and sprint off across the street, running surprisingly fast in my heeled boots. I shoot him a sly smile as I look back at him. He tries to keep up with me but he’s slowed down by a passing car. He’s caught in the rain and getting thoroughly drenched. I laugh at him as I make my way to the other side of the street. I retreat to the shelter of the alcove of a fancy apartment building, surrounded
by Roman-like pillars, a satisfied smile on my face.

  Of course, he does finally catch up with me, and when he does, he grabs me tight, dripping all over me. He looks adorable; face soaked, dripping hair plastered on his head. I could just drink him up. “Enough,” he says, his eyes serious. “Enough of these little games.” He grabs my face and presses his mouth against mine. I revel in his kiss. It’s so perfect; hot and sweet. He lets out a moan as I take his tongue in my mouth. I feel his kiss all the way through my core.

  Well, there goes my “no kissing” rule.

  The heat oozes in me. It seems I’ve been waiting for this kiss all my life. His warm mouth shocks my senses, a sharp contrast to the coolness of the night. I moan into his mouth as I grab his cold wet face and deepen the kiss. My kiss is hungry, clingy. I don’t want to let go. Despite myself, I respond to him thoroughly…uninhibited.

  Our mouths our tangled in a hot mess. Teeth clanking, tongues dancing.

  God, what the hell am I doing?

  Weston pulls away. “I thought we weren’t doing this kissing thing.”

  I laugh as his playful smile presses against my lips again. What was I thinking? Of course I’m going to kiss him. I don’t think I could keep my mouth off his, even if my life was at stake. I pull my mouth from his, breathless. “Yeah, that was a stupid idea,” I admit, pulling him back to me.

  Just a kiss. A romantic kiss in the rain. That’s all I want tonight.

  He tears himself away again. “Tell me. Tell me you want to end up in my bed. Admit it,” he presses, a grin dancing on his lips.

  Oh, are we still playing this game?

  I’m not admitting anything. My mouth reaches for his again, but he pulls away.

  “Tell me you want me.” He wants to hear me say it, wants me to admit I want to jump his bones.

  I do. I want to jump his bones. I want to kiss every inch of his naked body. That’s what I want, but I would never admit it. Breathless, I look at him, at a loss for words, working out my answer. My gaze fixes his, unwavering.

  I can’t do this to Gabe. I can’t sleep with Weston. As much as I crave him, I can’t cheat on my husband.