“Do I know this guy? Does he go here?” Ivan had never struck me as particularly curious, and certainly not about my personal life, so his inquisition surprised me.
“No, he’s not in Detroit,” I clarified while he looked thoughtfully at me. He was probably wondering how I knew someone not from the city. “I met him in New York when I went to stay with my father,” I continued, and he raised his eyebrows in understanding.
“Oh, so he’s from there?”
“Yeah, he is.” I nodded, thinking unavoidably of Neil. I wondered what he was doing at that moment. Was he by himself or with one of his women? The idea of someone else touching him or kissing him the way I had done made me sick to my stomach. I hated knowing that he was incapable of being exclusive with me. His need to seek out other girls, even after being with me, got under my skin. It hurt my pride, making me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t worth anything at all.
“So what? What’s wrong with him?” Ivan continued. I was disquieted and said nothing. “Oh, come on, Selene. It’s just me. You know me. You don’t have to be afraid to tell me anything,” he added in a coaxing tone. Despite his reputation for being something of a fuckboy, he seemed sincerely interested in understanding what was happening inside my head.
“There’s not much to tell.” I sighed. “He’s not interested in a relationship, he doesn’t have feelings, and he’s cold and distant. It’s not worth talking about…” I bowed my head, and Ivan inched closer, tipping my chin upward with one finger. I looked at him then—really looked at him the way I probably should have been doing from the start—and I finally understood what all those girls saw in him. His green eyes were threaded through with luminous, tawny streaks that drew one in deeper and inviteda closer scrutiny of the rest of him. But I was too dumb, too bamboozled by a pair of golden eyes, that I just couldn’t seem to quit, so I couldn’t accept that invitation.
“May I kiss you?” he asked me earnestly, a hairsbreadth from my face. His breath was fresh and warm against my skin. I swallowed hard as I looked at his lips, not because I was drawn to them, but because I was imagining another pair—a pair more lush and insistent. “Someone once told me that a man never asks for a kiss,” I said softly. Echoing Neil’s words felt like a stab to the heart.
Ivan gave me a small smile.
“I was really just asking to be polite,” he murmured, trying to move in closer again, but I pulled back away from him.
“Only those who know me well…shouldn’t ask me that,” I said, pulling away from his touch entirely and getting to my feet. Ivan looked up at me, surprised and bewildered. He probably didn’t get rejected very often.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I mean… I… I wasn’t…” He looked increasingly confused and uncomfortable. He rubbed his hands along his pants and cleared his throat awkwardly.
I hadn’t been sure if I could call what I felt for Neil “love,” but after turning Ivan down, I suspected it might really be. It was a true, pure feeling that would not fade, not even if I met the world’s most perfect man. Still, I had to accept the fact that Neil and I weren’t anything. I had to commit to not chasing after him anymore and to just let him go the way I’d promised him on the phone.
I had to stop wondering if he was thinking of me or if one day he might be able to love me. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
Because, clearly, I couldn’t just run into someone else’s open arms. Love wasn’t a fleeting thing for me; it wasn’t a game or a hobby.
Neither was it an illusion, the way Neil clearly believed. He was so convinced that the only things I really “loved” were the way he looked and the passionate way he touched me.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I loved the way he always fell asleep on his side.
I loved his enigmatic smile, alluring and sexy as hell.
I loved his clean smell and how it clouded my mind.
I loved the way his eyes looked when they caught the sun. They became, somehow, even more golden until they could rival the sun itself for beauty and brightness.
I loved the delighted look on his face when he found a package of pistachios, like a little boy presented with his favorite treat.
I loved the way his forehead creased up when he was trying to understand something I told him, and I loved the powerful, stubborn, sexual, troubled, and uncontrollable side of him as well.
I loved the heart that he kept locked behind glass where it could never be touched.
I loved his unfathomable behavior that concealed the fragile soul underneath.
I loved his intelligence and his erudition, though he only ever displayed them quietly.
I loved everything about him: the chaos, the mess, even his fear of staying with me.
I loved the things that made him easy to hate, but to my misfortune, I’d found even more things that made him easy to love.
And if that wasn’t real love, then I had no other name for it.
* * *
Half an hour later, Ivan and I stood in the driveway of my little house.
