I want to crawl beneath his truck. Instead, he helps lift me into the cab and leans in. “It’s okay, Cecelia, I’ve been there.”
I gaze over at him, guilt-ridden. “I’ll pay for my half of dinner.”
“Just how much do you intend on insulting me tonight? And what kind of assholes have you been dating?”
Unforgettable assholes with a side of motherfucker.
“I wouldn’t blame you at this point if you make me take a cab home.”
“You’re painfully honest, but I like that.” He bites his lip, his eyes lifting to mine. “Painfully beautiful, too. I’ll just be flattered that I was your first attempt. And maybe,” he shrugs, “we can try again sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
We both know it’s a lie, but I rest easier in it as I click my seat belt while he rounds his truck. A silence ensues when he joins me, messing with his radio on our ride back. I’m thankful when he finally speaks up. “So, was it someone from around here?”
“No. It’s just some asshole I dated back home in Georgia.” The lies are getting easier to tell. But the truth is not an option.
Wesley leaves me at my front door with a friendly hug and an offer to call him when I’m ready. As he drives off, I curse my faithful heart and slam the front door aggravated with myself.
Disheartened, I haul myself up the stairs and into my bedroom. Sliding my sandals off, I pull my cell out of my purse and shoot off a message to Christy.
Project Get On With It was a complete failure.
Christy: Don’t give up, babe. Whoever it is will be a Band-Aid right now anyway.
I’m still not ready.
Christy: Then you’re not ready. Don’t rush it. You’ll get there.
What’s going on with you tonight?
Christy: Netflix and chilling. Wink emoji. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.
Go, girl. And you better. Love you. Night. X
I decide to make peace with my progress. I went on a date, successful or not. It’s a start.
After plugging my cell in on my nightstand, I pull the covers back, sit on the edge of the bed and run my feet through the plush carpet.
Attempting to live a ‘normal’ life after two octane-fueled relationships is exhausting. All these months later, I still miss the chaotic nights, the mystery, the anticipation, the connection, and the sex. God, the sex.
I’ve given myself enough time to grieve. If my heart would just follow my head, I’d be so much better off. I run my fingers across my untouched lips and decide to opt for a morning shower to scrub off my makeup. Tossing the throw pillows off my comforter, I move to settle in with a new book and freeze when I see the metal pendant waiting on my pillow.
Wrapping my fingers around it, I bring it eye-level, disbelieving of the weight of it and what it means before shooting off my mattress. My heart rockets into motion as I scan my room.
“Sean? Dominic?”
I walk into the bathroom. Empty.
The balcony. Empty.
Desperately, I search the house only to find all the doors are locked.
Not that that could stop them, it never has. The proof lays in my hand.
Hopes soaring, I secure the clasp around my neck and dash toward the back door. Gathering my rain boots from the hall tree, I shove them on and grab the pocket flashlight from my slicker. Seconds later, I scan the courtyard with the weak beam.
“Sean? Dominic?”