Did he just fucking say what I think he said?
“You gotta bail?” I ask in disbelief. I know guys do this shit all the time, my girlfriends tell me the stories. Hell, my brother Cal and his friends, were known for being such dicks, but I highly doubt any of them had the balls to say it outright like nothing.
Sully looks at me angrily and stands. “Yeah. I have got to get the fuck out of here and away from you. I want absolutely nothing to do with this shit, Mya. I fucking knew better than to even try with someone so young, but this type of shit isn’t cut out for me. Not in the cards, feel me?”
“I am not a child. I am twenty-one. I can do everything legally that you can. If I can go to prison, vote, buy liquor… I can fuck.”
“I am thirty-three and most days I feel older, Mya. You have no idea what’s aged me and changed me. I resent life most days and try to carve out little pieces of good. Devirginizing you in a hotel room after a few too many shots ofPatronat a bar is not on my list of learning to live again.”
I stand stunned at his reasoning. I may not know his life’s story, but I know enough about his past love life in Seattle. “Look, I know you are divorced. Everyone knows. Get over it.”
One day I might regret my flippancy, but right now I was hurt and humiliated. I didn’t give a shit about his ex-drama.
His eyes go dark shielding any emotion from escaping, and all I see is anger. “Get out.” His voice is low, but terrifying. Whatever I said or did to him was evident in that tone.
“Excuse me?” I screech and climb from the bed, willing to stand toe-to-toe. I might not know, or understand his reasons, but I didn’t deserve to be tossed out. That was for damn sure.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Room.” He says, each word sharp like a blade. “Clear enough?”
I feel the tears as they burn my eyes, but I refuse to blink and give him the satisfaction of knowing he offended me. I straighten my spine and look at him. “I need pants first. I can survive this humiliation much easier if I don’t leave here looking like used up trash!” I let the venom of my tone resonate as I throw his overnight bag on the bed, and riffle through it until I find workout style pants with a drawstring waist, that I slip on.
“I am sorry you feel that way considering absolutely nothing happened. I am sorry if I seem harsh or rude, but this show can’t happen,” he explains, as he motions between us and the bed.
“Well, you keep on telling yourself nothing happened and then lick your fucking lips as a reminder of them on my pussy not two minutes ago. Asshole.” I grab my shoes and look in the mirror, defeated by the dress and that I look like a hot mess. I pull it over my head and let it drop to the floor as I grab the white ribbed tank top in his bag. I tie it in a knot beneath my breasts and decide it will do.
I look to Sully who is watching me like I am the psychopath here. “Are you done raiding my wardrobe?”
I give him a hateful smile. “Wearing wife beater tank tops and workout pants does not make a wardrobe there, bad ass. I was surprised to see something I could manage in that bag.”
“Cool. Now, go,” he says, folding the bag closed and zipping it up.
I look at him, seeing the actual truth that he does not care. “This isn’t an act is it? You are honestly this rude?”
He looks up at the ceiling and lets out a sigh. If it was frustration or guilt, I don’t know. “I don’t want to be cold or cruel, but I need to in order for you to understand this shit ends here.” He looks at me defeated and sits at the end of the bed. “The truth is, I respect you, Mya. Hopefully, we can be friends one day. I had a blast chilling with you, but we need to remain platonic.”
I balk at the idea and prepare to tell him to fuck off when he grabs my hand. “I am thirty-three with a sadness in me to rival what you think you know of worse case scenarios. I don’t wear my pain. I keep it hidden inside and carry-on.”
“I’m not looking to get married tonight, Sully,” I say, and hope that he doesn’t see me as the young hopeful girl that hears wedding bells with the first kiss. I like him even when he is a dick like now. I like him, and worse, I respect him for his truth even though it sucks.
He shakes his head no at my words. “The reason I won’t do this is because to me, it is just sex and will onlyeverbe sex. I will not fall in love with you. I will never marry you or be in a relationship with you. You are twenty-one and deserve to be some lucky guys favorite color.”
As he speaks, his voice is a sad and removed echo in the room.
“Favorite color?” I ask. My chest tight from his words and the sadness in them.
He smiles sadly and brushes my confusion off as if I could never understand. “Something I used to say to express love. It’s a big deal to be someone’s favorite color. Nothing can compare to that love. Understand?”
“No. I have never been loved like that,” I say, now wanting nothing more than to be someone’s favorite color.
He cups my cheek and smiles before kissing it sweetly, platonically. “I can guarantee you that you are your dads favorite color.”
I try to brush off the sadness that hit me as he spoke with such sorrow and shrugged. “Maybe…” I tuck my hair behind my ears and take a deep breath, just wanting to get the hell away from him at this point.
“Look, we can be friends. There’s a lot of tequila in the world and plenty of other guys to make bad choices with, right?”
“Mya…”
“It’s cool. I am gonna head to my room. I can return the clothes once I get dressed,” I say, and leave him alone in his room. My torn dress on the floor with my dignity.
