Mila laughed again, the sound jarring and abrasive. “Oh, I’m definitely not okay with this. But—but you’re mine, not his. It was never supposed to be that way! I can’t just give you to him! I won’t!” She walked over, grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You didn’t cheat on me. I don’t care if you want him. You didn’t cheat. We can—we can get over it—I’ll give you another chance—and we—”
“Enough, Mila,” Alexander said, bile rising to his throat. She looked nearly hysterical. She looked like…He put his hands on her shoulders and shook her slightly. “Don’t you have any self-respect? You deserve better. I’m the asshole here. You shouldn’t give me a second chance. It will change nothing.”
She shook her head slowly. “But you didn’t cheat,” she whispered.
Alexander looked her in the eye. “I kissed him.”
She opened her mouth and closed it before opening again. “I don’t care. You didn’t have sex with him. You didn’t cheat.”
Alexander hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was clutching at straws. “Maybe not physically,” he said, forcing the words out. “But I did it every time I looked at him. Every time I couldn’t look away.”
Mila swallowed.
He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “You deserve better. You deserve a man who will enter the room you’re in and see no one but you. I can’t be that man, but he’s out there. You’ll find him. I know you will.”
She looked at him for a long moment before averting her eyes and scowling. “Oh, shut up. Why are you so perfect all the time? Even when you’re dumping me? If you’re dumping me, at least have the decency to let me hate you! My next boyfriend will probably have at least five horrible flaws compared to you.”
Alexander kissed her on the forehead. “Maybe it’s a good thing. And I’m not perfect. Very far from perfect, actually.”
Mila snorted. “You? Please. You’re the definition of perfect.”
A crooked smile curled his lips. “If you think that, you loved a man who didn’t exist.”
She eyed him solemnly before nodding. “Maybe. Maybe I never knew you.” She chuckled humorlessly. “Maybe if I knew you better, I could have stopped you from falling for him.”
Alexander sucked a breath in. “I didn’t say I love him,” he said tersely, turning away.
“What?”
“I don’t love him,” he bit out. “It’s not love.”
“Then what is it?”
Alexander stared out the window, watching the snowfall. He thought of snowflakes melting on Christian’s flushed skin a few hours ago. He thought of how he looked and how he couldn’t look away.
“Obsession,” he whispered, barely audible.
A few hours later, as he helped Mila get her stuff outside, he looked at Mila’s face and tried to feel the quiet love he’d used to feel for her. But there was nothing—everything wiped out by this thing eating him from the inside out.
A cab pulled over and stopped in front of them. Mila glanced at it. “Send the rest of my things to my parents’ house.” Her eyes were shiny as she looked at him, but she gave him a confident smile. “I still expect to receive the red dress for my birthday, got it?”
“Got it,” he said and watched her walk to the cab.
As the cab pulled away, Alexander put his hands into the pockets of his coat and stood still, letting cold flakes of snow land on his face and melt. There was a faint feeling of regret in the pit of his stomach, but Alexander knew he had done the right thing. Mila did deserve better. And staying together wasn’t an option.
Because it was obvious now he couldn’t be trusted.
Alexander clenched his jaw, remembering how close he had been to having Christian right there, in the car. It was a fucking miracle he’d managed to tear himself away.
Looking back, it had been silly to think he could be friends with Christian. A man wouldn’t get frustrated and restless if he didn’t see his friend for a few weeks, but at the time, Alexander couldn’t put a name to the odd restlessness under his skin—or didn’t want to.
Then he saw Christian at Mila’s school.
Then he had to see him again.
The last few weeks had been a disaster. He had told himself he would stay away from Christian, but he ended up seeking him out using some truly ridiculous justifications. He’d told himself he wouldn’t touch Christian now that they were just friends, but he caught himself groping him on multiple occasions—touching, stroking his skin, putting a proprietary arm around him, pulling him close. It was like he couldn’t control his body at all.
And he couldn’t control his mind, either. When they watched movies together, he spent half of the time imagining pushing Christian flat on his back, climbing on top of him and rutting into him until his cock was sore and Christian was flushed and covered in his come.