All or Nothing

by Kendall Ryan

  I stormed from the bathroom, renewing my strength, and began hastily packing my suitcase. I would be gone before he came back from his walk, or wherever he’d gone. Screw him. I wasn’t a doormat, and I wouldn’t be used like one. I needed to get the fuck off this island.

  11

  One fact was undeniably clear: I was miserable without him. Like a fool, I’d powered on my phone after the long flight home, desperate to see missed calls, voice mails, or texts from him begging me to return, or promising me things would be different. But my phone was eerily quiet. Not a peep from him.

  I’d sucked it up and returned to work, desperate for the distraction. I shot death glares at my boss and coworkers when they asked about my trip and why I was back early. Because I decided to start thinking with my brain instead of my vagina for a change.

  Several days later, I heard from him. One lousy text. I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be. Which I translated to mean that he wasn’t even going to try. He could have fixed this all so easily between us if he really wanted to. Invite me over to his place, agree to meet up with me for coffee somewhere, tell me he was ready for more . . . but nope. He hadn’t promised me a thing, and I was done grasping on to false hope and illusions for what would never be. The realization stung. I truly was just his bed buddy. The sex had been great, I wasn’t about to lie to myself. It had been truly off the charts. He was the best lover I’d ever had—by far. That was the worst part of it all, because now I’d lost everything—no chance at love, and no more mind-blowing sex to take my mind off that fact. Fuck.

  Worst of all, I felt like I’d lost a friend. Braydon and I had bickered nonstop when we’d first met. But it had all been in good fun. There was always an underlying electric current flowing between us—a spark. I’d felt so alive and carefree around him. He made me laugh easily and often. Those days were done. And even worse, he was best friends with my BFF’s husband. There would be no way we could avoid each other forever. I guess I really should have thought that through before I started fucking him. Oh well. You live and you learn, I supposed.

  I watched the calendar change days, throwing myself into routine. Work. Home. Gym. Laundry. It was all rather pathetic. I should have just let him go, wiped the slate clean, but I couldn’t keep myself from looking at photos of him online. It started off innocently enough, with me checking Emmy’s updates online. She posted photos of Ben regularly, like any good assistant would, from the various projects he booked. The latest were a series of shots from Hawaii. Deeply sensual poses of Ben and Braydon underneath a jungle waterfall with an exotic, fair-haired beauty between them. She appeared to be nude, just their hands covering her private areas, while they modeled a luxury line of men’s swim trunks. My eyes zeroed in on Braydon. His expression was pure pleasure, primal and carnal. His look was so erotic, my sex muscles clenched, throbbing uncomfortably. My stupid vagina missed him. She’d gotten me into this mess in the first place. Well, no more, missy. No soup for you!

  My stalking progressed from looking at photos from the Hawaii shoot into an hours-long obsession searching every last corner of the Internet for any trace of him, as if I could find something that would help me understand this man. I ate everything in sight, drank copious amounts of wine to help me sleep at night, and stalked him online, searching out every last picture while stuffing my face with pizza, cookie dough, and all the other foods I never let myself have. It was a full-on pity party for one.

  True to his word, Braydon was usually photographed alone—he went sans date to most functions, occasionally escorting a fellow model. But as I tracked back in time, I realized things weren’t always that way. The pictures that were a few years older showed him with a woman. She appeared on his arm during several events, and there were even candid shots of them together on the street. There was something familiar about her. And though her hair was darker in the pictures, I realized who it was. Katrina, the skittish girl I’d met at the photo shoot. I didn’t know why it surprised me to see them together—she’d hinted at their history—but seeing his arms around her, the happy expressions on their faces . . . it was beyond strange. She seemed to be the one and only girl he’d been regularly photographed with.

  I thought about his hesitation to be seen with me and I wondered if this woman, who he seemed all too happy to be photographed with, had anything to do with the sudden change.

  Pulling my quilt up over my legs, I struggled to piece together the puzzle of Braydon. Maybe he had his heart broken and he was cautious about jumping into another relationship. Or maybe I was reading way too much into it and being way too generous. He could just be a player who acted on his baser instincts, like my subconscious first warned me about. He’d hinted at something in his past holding him back. Knowing I was no closer to solving the mystery, I did the only thing I could do. I went to grab the scrap of paper Katrina had given to me that was currently stuffed in my wallet. Maybe she held the key to his past, and maybe she could help me understand why he was the way he was.

  Summoning my courage, I pulled the slip of paper from my wallet. Her neat, curvy handwriting covered the entire length of the scrap. I punched her number into my phone and typed out a text.

  Me: Hey! It’s Ellie from the photo shoot . . . remember me?

  A few minutes later, her reply arrived.

  Katrina: Hi! Of course I remember. How are you?

  Me: Eh, I’ve been better. I was actually wondering if I could ask you a few Braydon-related questions . . . if that’s not too strange.

  My heartbeat thumped unevenly. I felt like a superfreak stalker. I hoped I didn’t sound as pathetic as I felt. But something told me Katrina would be willing to share her experience.

  Katrina: Oh no! What happened?

  I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or genuinely interested in helping. If Braydon was single again, would that put her back in the running? I blew the strands of loose hair out of my face and plopped down on the couch. I had to try. She could help me piece together his past. And he’d cut me too deep. I had to know.

  Me: I was tired of feeling like a plaything—I don’t think he was ever really going to commit . . . so I sort of left him in Hawaii.

  When I worded it like that, I sort of sounded like a badass. I had put my foot down, it was true. I’d left him in a hotel and flown halfway across the globe. If I weren’t feeling so utterly crappy, I might be proud.

  Katrina: Dang, girl. How are you feeling now?

  It was like she could sense that now that I was back home and all alone, the glow of pride in my decision had worn off. It was hard to feel proud when you were in sweatpants and a T-shirt and your heart felt like it’d been put through a blender.

  Me: Basically like shit.

  The smiley face was pure sarcasm, but seriously, I didn’t mean to be such a downer.

  Katrina: Sorry. Been there. Done that. I understand.

  It was weird to think this stranger understood my situation better than anyone. Better than Emmy. But it would be nice to have someone to talk to about all this. I wondered if she still regularly Google-stalked Braydon. I wondered if a girl could ever really move on after someone like him. Probably not.

  Me: I’m sure it sounds pathetic, but I was wondering if maybe you’d want to meet up for coffee or something . . . swap horror stories? It might help me to understand him better.

  Katrina: It doesn’t sound pathetic at all, and sure, I’d love to. You just let me know when you’re up for it.

  Me: Thanks. I will.

  Heading back into my room, I felt the tiniest bit better. At least I had a plan. It might not have been the most noble of plans—to pump his ex-girlfriend for information—but hell, it was a start. I collapsed on my bed, curling into the sheets. There was no way not to notice that my pillowcase still smelled like him. I pulled the pillow to my face and inhaled deeply, letting his scent envelop me.

  12

  Several days later, Emmy and I sat at a sidewalk café, enjoying the fall sunshine a
nd crisp air while we still could. I was so thankful she was back from her trip. Enduring this breakup alone had been torture. Especially since I knew my best friend was there with him, having fun in the sun, I was sure.

  We sat over coffee and croissants as I poured my heart out to her. Once I’d finished, she lifted her chin, her eyes full of concern.

  “You’ve fallen for him,” she said with a frown. I nodded sheepishly. “Then why did you run?”

  I bit my cheek. “Because I wasn’t okay with being his dirty mistress. I wanted more.”

  She nodded sympathetically. “If it makes you feel any better, he was miserable once you left.” I doubted that. But I avoided asking her if he found another girl on the island to replace me. I couldn’t handle knowing that right now. “This is just like me and Ben in the beginning. We started out as just a fling. You told me not to chase him, remember? You said since he was used to women throwing themselves at him that I needed to be myself and show him that my appeal was that I was a regular girl. And if he liked me and wanted me in his life, he’d make it happen.”

  “That was my brilliant advice?” I cringed.

  “Yes. And it worked. You were right then, and I’m right about this now. Braydon’s used to the same thing, just like Ben was. Traveling the globe, dating supermodels, girls dropping their panties at a single flash of those dimples.”

  Shit, just picturing his adorable smile and dimples made my heart hurt. “Yes, and unfortunately I’m not a model, not even close, and I’ve already dropped my panties—two strikes against me. This will never work.”

  “Yes it will.”

  “None of this matters, Emmy. We’re done. I left him in Hawaii and he hasn’t even called.”

  “He will. Trust me.”

  I rolled my eyes. He had texted me once, but I didn’t mention that to her. “And when he does, you need to distance yourself from him a bit. Let him miss you. He’s already seen how great you are. You’re smart, funny, sexy, and you give him a run for his money, too. I’ve never seen a girl keep up with Braydon’s quips like you do. He’s going to realize just how amazing that combination is. Just give him a little space to miss you.”

  I nodded. I knew she was right. What she was saying made sense. But the idea of distancing myself from him caused a physical ache to form in my chest.

  “I’ve seen you guys together. You have amazing chemistry. I can only imagine what the sex is like between you two.”

  “Oh honey, you have no idea,” I said with a chuckle. Emmy’s cheeks grew the faintest bit pink. “He’s fucking fantastic in bed. Seriously, I’ve never been with a man who knows the female body so well.”

  Emmy took a sip of her espresso. “Well, all that’s got to be put on hold.”

  “Emmy, are you deaf? We’re not even speaking. I certainly won’t be sleeping with him anytime soon.”

  “Trust me, I know Braydon. He’s going to call. So just promise me, when he does call, don’t go to bed with him, missy. You need a hiatus to see what your relationship with him is really made of. And you need to make him work for it, despite how fabulous the sex is with him.”

  “It’s more than just great sex. He’s sweet, kind, funny, and so giving. He made me feel beautiful. And smart. He’s the total package. You know, aside from that pesky detail of not wanting to be seen in public with me or have any type of real relationship.” I faked a smile.

  Emmy squeezed my hand from across the table. “Do you want me to have Ben say something to him?”

  “God no. That would only make things awkward.” I shuddered at the thought.

  “He’ll come to his senses.” She sounded certain, but I had my doubts.

  I shrugged. “We’ll see. I’m not counting on it.”

  “I give him a week before he’s begging for you to come back.”

  I scoffed, concentrating on my croissant, picking it into small pieces on my plate.

  “Ells?”

  I lifted my head. Oops, I guess I’d been lost in my own thoughts for a bit there.

  “Just be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

  I nodded. “I promise.”

  Regardless of the fact he probably wasn’t going to call, I knew she was right. Maybe it was time to start dating again and renew my online dating profile, just to take my mind off of things with Braydon for a while.

  • • •

  Despite being back in town for several days, and Emmy’s prediction that Braydon would contact me, he didn’t. I tried not to be too crushed and went on with my life. It helped that I’d already had several interested guys emailing me, wanting to set up dates after I updated my online dating profile. I was just starting to feel better about things when Braydon took me by surprise on a Thursday night.

  My phone rang, and as I went to pick it up, I saw Braydon’s name flashing across the screen. I stood there in my kitchen, staring down at the phone like it was a ticking time bomb. It was a call. Not a text. I tried not to get my hopes up.

  “Hello?” I finally answered.

  “Hey,” he said casually. If he was going to pretend like nothing was wrong—that our fight hadn’t happened—I was going to lose it.

  “I miss you,” he said softly.

  “I miss you, too,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Shit. So much for playing it cool and standing my ground. Did I have any self-respect left? Sheesh. I straightened my shoulders. “Braydon, why are you calling? You know where I stand.”

  “Yes, I do. You made that abundantly clear.”

  I waited, the gentle sound of his breathing and the faint humming of my refrigerator in the background the only sounds I could hear.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

  My heart kicked up a steady, thumping rhythm. “Go on.”

  “I thought we were on the same page with this arrangement . . . and I’m truly sorry about Hawaii. I’d like to see you,” he said.

  I didn’t respond. I was trying to be strong. “Can I come over tomorrow night after work? We should probably talk,” he said.

  I wiped a stray tear from my cheek and inhaled deeply, needing to make sure my voice remained steady. “I have a date tomorrow night. Sorry.”

  “A date?” The surprise in his tone crashed through me. I wanted to feel proud, but instead I just felt shitty.

  “Yeah. I figured it was time to, you know, take care of me and move on.”

  He didn’t need to know my date was with a forty-year-old divorced guy I wasn’t the least bit excited about. I was only going to force myself to try to move on.

  “I see.” His tone was soft, disappointed, and I fought with myself to keep quiet. I wanted to tell him never mind, that I’d cancel my stupid date. But then I realized he was offering to come over. To my apartment. Not take me to his, not meet up in public. It was the same old, same old. That realization renewed my strength.

  “Goodnight, Braydon.”

  “Night, kitten.”

  I sunk to the kitchen floor, pulling my knees up to my chest, and heaved deep, shuddering breaths as tears leaked from my eyes uncontrollably.

  13

  “Well?” Emmy asked, helping herself to another slice of pizza. “How was it?”

  “How was what?”

  “The date! Duh.”

  I rolled my eyes. I’d tried to block that from my memory. “Horrid. Ridiculous. Never happening again.”

  “Okay then.” She stiffened. “Still, I’m proud of you for going. And most of all for putting Braydon in his place. Has he called again?”

  I fought a wave of tears that threatened to escape. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d made a terrible mistake turning him down. I set my slice of pizza back on my plate. “No.”

  “Hang in there, babe.”

  It was easier said than done. I hadn’t seen Braydon in more than three weeks. Sure, he’d been in Hawaii much of that time, but still, he’d had ample opportunity to miss me, hadn’t he? And still, he hadn’t called ag
ain.

  • • •

  In the weeks that followed, Emmy became increasingly busy with New York Fashion Week. In the position to be more selective about work that took him away from the charity, Ben wasn’t walking in just any show. This made him even more in demand than usual, which Ben and Emmy used to their full advantage. Rather than simply being cast, they negotiated an exclusive appearance to the highest bidder. He’d chosen the Giorgio Armani show for a ridiculous sum that would go straight to his charity. I was proud of them for the careers they were building. It was cool to watch. They had the same vision and rarely disagreed, despite working long hours together.

  Anytime Emmy brought up Fashion Week, I fought the urge to ask her about Braydon, which shows he was being cast in, and if he had any travel plans coming up. I knew that would only fuel my online-stalking of him. Fixating on him wasn’t healthy. He’d clearly moved on and I needed to as well. I did agree to join Emmy and Ben at the Armani postshow soiree. Emmy had convinced me, saying that Ben would be busy chatting up the industry people and she would be left alone. I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which Ben left his beautiful wife to fend for herself, but I agreed to go. Honestly, the party sounded like fun. It would give me an excuse to dress up, get out of my apartment, and mingle with pretty people. The idea that I might run into Braydon there only fueled my desire to attend.

  He was still constantly on my mind, and even though I knew it wasn’t healthy, I wanted to see him, I wanted him to see me, and I wanted to find out if we still had any connection. That evening I spent an inordinate amount of time blowing out my long hair with meticulous care until it was a glossy mane that fell down my back in a silky curtain. He’d take one look at me and drop down on his knees, begging for me to come back. At least that’s what I told myself as I got ready for the night.