As I walked away from Brock, though, I couldn’t shake this almost desperate urge to turn around, to run back into his arms, demand he take me back upstairs, then not get out of bed with him for weeks. Months. Until the end of time.
But that urge was exactly why I had to keep walking, why I couldn’t even let myself look back.
Sure, things were going well. We were clearly enjoying each other. That didn’t mean, though, that Brock was having the same sort of feelings that I was.
He’d admitted, more than once, to having enjoyed the company of many a woman. In casual ways, but more than one-night stands.
Maybe, to him, this was just another of his casual flings. Meanwhile I couldn’t help but think about how much more pleasant my next formal dinner party would be if he was there at my side. If, maybe, I could persuade him to rush into the forbidden second floor, find a little bathroom, and fuck away the night in it.
Or waking up with him every morning, drinking coffee in bed while we discussed our days ahead.
Or sneaking off to an Italian villa for a week or two.
The thing was, objectively, even if that was the wish for both of us, it didn’t work in practical application.
His life was in Navesink Bank.
Mine was in the city.
Sure, yes, it wasn’t that far, but it was over an hour out of our days in both directions when we wanted to spend some time together.
And some cynical, jaded part of me knew that over time, it would get tedious, then old, until it eventually became untenable. Then fell apart.
It probably wasn’t great that my mind went to the end when we were just limbering up at the starting line.
But it was a defense mechanism. If I could look at all the potential ways things could get really ugly and painful, it made it possible for me to save myself from that. Or, at least, that was what I’d found so far in my life.
I hadn’t had much opportunity to try to apply that skill to relationships, seeing as I just… hadn’t had one in a long time.
Still, yeah, it seemed smart to hold myself back from being too needy, too clingy, too over the top with my feelings.
As a whole, I was someone who liked to lead, who enjoyed setting the pace and allowing others to fall behind. Just this once, though, I was going to follow Brock’s lead.
I guess it came down to not wanting to make a fool of myself. I didn’t want to get vulnerable, have him shoot me down, and need to live with that embarrassment.
It was better to take it slow, to feel him out.
So it was good that I was taking a little time to myself, away from him, before we spent the night together.
It didn’t even occur to me that it was weird that Mitchell hadn’t come out to open my door. I guess I figured maybe he thought that Brock was with me, so he would get my door.
It wasn’t a big deal.
I could get my own door.
And my mind was on the menu at the restaurant that we were heading to, since I hated the pressure of having the server waiting to take your order, and not being ready.
So I didn’t immediately look up toward the front.
“Traffic is awful today,” I murmured as I took a long sip of the coffee that was waiting for me. Mitchell didn’t always grab me coffee, but when he was getting himself one, he always grabbed me one. “It might be smart to just leave the car parked, and take off on foot if you need to go run some errands or get food,” I added, drinking more.
It wasn’t until then, when I still didn’t get a response from Mitchell, that I looked up.
And like some damn horror movie, the doors clicked lock as I realized that the person in the driver’s seat wasn’t Mitchell at all.
Mitchell, after all, was a little on the shorter side with wide shoulders and reddish-brown hair.
Whoever this was, was tall and narrower with kind of shaggy dirty blond hair.