“Will you need a copy of my high school diploma?”
“I imagine so,” he says.
“Hmm, okay. I can get it now…if you want?”
I’m getting closer to asking the question Iwantto ask. I’ve given him a hint, letting him know Jane is out, but at the same time, part of me regrets saying that.
It leaves the possibility open that he’ll want to do something….
Which is whatIwant. But real life matters too. What am I going to be able to do for this man, realistically?
And if he does things to me…how the heck am I going to know how to act?
Good job, none of that’s going to happen.
“You can submit it with the rest of the forms,” he says, and I feel like a door has just been closed.
“Okay.” I reach for the door. “I’ll see you around then.”
“See you around.”
I look at him as his cold-tone voice slams into me, freezing away any of the warmth from our conversation. All that stuff, about Anna and his past and my parents and discussing children… was just idle chit-chat to him, with no special meaning, no importance attached.
Just another conversation with another girl, and he doesn’t give a damn.
He’s a playboy, right down to his core.
I’m walking across the street, my bag clutched tightly, trying to steady my breathing.
Shamefully, I’m sure I feel more tears rising in my eyes, but these aren’t for his daughter, not for what was taken from him. These tears are forme, springing up from pity, from longing for a never-going-to-happen dream.
Back in the apartment, I get a text from Logan.
I’ll be at the community center tomorrow if you’re around. We can handle the forms then.
Tomorrow is Saturday, and I’ve got the day off work.
I’ve got a few errands to run, but that’s all.
I want to tell him no. He can’t just keep messing with my head like this, making me feel one thing then the other.
But then I think about seeing him again, and my body screams at me to make it happen.
My soul blazes for it. My heart yearns for it.
My future demands it.
Sure.What time?
What time works for you?
We agree on two PM, then I walk into my bedroom and lie down, replaying the evening in my head. I remember when Logan casually reached into his pocket and laid the bills on the table, shaking his head matter-of-factly when I asked if he wanted me to help him pay.
I remember the pain in his voice, talking about his daughter.
And how freaking confusing he was about other women, never making a clear comment.
I spend the rest of the evening doing nothing much in particular, tired from the workday, then the…notdate, but thethingwith Logan.