But had what happened in his previous relationship soured him on long-distance relationships?
Talk about putting the cart before the horse, Stella. One night of sex does not a relationship make.
No matter what happened from this point forward, I knew one thing: I would rather be a cat lady than put up with another hollow substitute for a fulfilling relationship.
I wasn’t going back to Ken, and I wasn’t going to waste my time with anyone like him.
“Stark, why are you staring at me so intently?” Malone’s voice rumbled through me.
There were many things I could’ve said. I could’ve asked where he’d been my whole life. I could’ve asked him to stay, but my pride chafed at that. No, I’d stick to the terms of our arrangement—i.e., that this was temporary. I finally settled for a cheeky, “One for the road?”
He frowned, but it was only when he thumbed away my tears that I realized I was crying.
“Hey, hey. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, oh no. Far from it,” I said, a sob escaping despite my best efforts.
He drew me closer so that my cheek lay on his chest and then kissed the top of my head. “Then I can only conclude someone else has.”
I snorted. “Maybe.”
“Are you trying to crack a joke in the middle of what is obviously trauma?”
“Maybe.”
“You know, I’d hoped for breakfast in bed, maybe that one for the road you mentioned, but I’m afraid we now only have time to cuddle for ten minutes.”
“But I’m comfortable where I am, and checkout isn’t until eleven,” I said, even as a tear slid down my cheek. “Why only ten minutes?”
“Because at that time, I will have to hunt down the person and/or people who hurt you and beat them up.”
I laughed through a sob.
What a mess I was.
I slithered on top of him and began to kiss him with a desperation that scared me. It was a desperation full of fear that he would leave, that I would be wrecked, or, even worse, that I wouldn’t be wrecked but would be left utterly numb once again. But most of all, it was a fear that I didn’t deserve the affection he’d so lavishly bestowed on me.
“Banana pepper.”
I froze.
He was done with me already? I rolled off the bed and went to the window to peek at our mountain view at least once. Doing so had the added advantage that Malone couldn’t see my tears. For heaven’s sake, why did they have to show up right now? I didn’t cry when I discovered Ken was sleeping around on me. Or any of the times my mother left. Or even—
Nope. Not going there.
This was all Brené Brown’s fault—the author’s, not the cat’s. Some of that vulnerability I’d been reading about must’ve rubbed off on me.
I wasn’t a fan.
“What is going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asked.
So much, Malone. So much—and none of it good.
When I didn’t answer, he continued, “For the record, I would love to make love to you again, but I have this pesky rule against having sex with women who are crying. Silly, I know.”
“Nope. Not silly,” I said, trying to get myself together. “You are just so ...”
“Oh no,” he muttered. “This isn’t going to be good.”
