Lately, I’ve considered checking my social media, worried I put too much faith in his ability to actually find my number after he asked for it. But each time, I stop myself. If he’s interested, he can work for it. I want to be desired. I want to be wanted, and I refuse to settle for anything less. My breakup taught me tolerance is like permission. When I allow someone to treat me poorly, I’m silently giving permission for the behavior. If he wants to see me again, I know he has enough information to make it happen.
Besides, I’m far too busy to get wrapped up in a relationship right now. I don’t need a man to distract me. I’m at the height of my career, on the top of my game, and easily one of the most sought-after artists for projects in the industry. There’s no shortage of work to throw myself into. In fact, what I should be doing is working on my packing. I need to prepare for our trip to Texas, where one of my covers is an event exclusive. Roxy and I are leaving for a week to meet some of the others on the team.Once we finish the event, we decided to extend our stay so we can visit the famous River Walk area and do some fun touristy things. The trip is three weeks away, and we still have a lot to do.
Tonight I’m going over to Roxy’s for a much-needed girls’ night and planning session. We’re going to do a little online shopping for our trip, order pizza, and decide on some of the last-minute details, like where to eat. Personally, I’m looking forward to the excitement of an expo to lift my spirits and breathe new energy and confidence into me. A one-night stand is what I wanted, so I’m not sure why I’m letting his absence get to me like this. I guess I just thought he was different—that he actually meant what he says and keeps promises.
I also need to get a guilty little secret I’ve been keeping from Roxy off my chest, but I knew we were both working up against a deadline and couldn’t afford a single distraction. A few days ago, I got an email from Jackson. It was all kinds of desperate and weird. He actually had the nerve to tell me I should hook up with him and his new girlfriend. I’m sorry, but he obviously doesn’t know shit about me if he thinks I’m down for a threesome with another woman. Like Roxy, if there’s going to be sharing, I’m not willing to be the one doing it. I especially would never find myself desperate enough to crawl back for lackluster sex with my ex. Actually, I take that back—with the right partner and very clear boundaries, I could get on board…too bad he’s not capable of those things. He’s definitely missing out on a great time.
The entire email was cringy. At one point, he even insinuated he might be willing to leave his new girlfriend and come back to me. Reading that made me want to vomit. As if I have any interest intaking him back. He’s such a classic narcissist, assuming I’d do anything to be with him.
My phone chirps, interrupting my seething. It’s Roxy. She’s ready to order pizza. I put my work off to the side and turn off a few lights. I might end up sleeping over at my bestie’s tonight, and honestly, who the fuck cares if we still have sleepovers at our age? A few minutes later, I head out the door and over to Roxy’s. I don’t knock—I just type in the door code and let myself in.
Roxy’s doing a quick tidy-up, throwing away trash from her day and folding up extra blankets. Nothing major. When I walk in, she looks up, smiling. It’s like when you share this completely secret life with someone, and the experience of being reunited after hours away from one another fills you with so much joy, you literally burst. The first thing we do is hug for entirely too long, but the longer it lasts, the more stress I can feel rolling off my body. We both take a deep, relaxing breath and drop our arms before collapsing on the couch next to each other.
“Long day?” she asks.
“Long week, honestly,” I answer.
“Pizza?” Roxy quirks her brow.
“Slices!” we say in unison.
“Baked potato,” I suggest.
Roxy nods her head in agreement, whips out her phone, and places the order. When she’s done, she gets comfortable and flips on the trashy dating show we both love watching. The rose ceremony’s going to be intense, and we’ve been waiting all week to watch it.
We talk through the commercials as we wait for pizza to arrive. On the second round of commercials, I finally get up the nerve to confess to Roxy about the email.
“Hey, so I had an interesting encounter this week from a pathetic, desperate loser,” I say casually.
She looks at me, utterly confused.
“It was an email from Jackson. He basically begged me to take him back and invited me to a very weird threesome. Do you want to read it?” I shrug.
Roxy holds her hand out, and I slide my phone into it. She reads the email, pauses the show, and reacts. “Babe, this is from three days ago. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Honestly, I didn’t find it until two days ago, and I figured he’s not important enough to make a fuss over when we’re on a deadline, so I decided he could wait to be dealt with.”
Roxy sighs. “Okay. I understand, but next time tell me so we can deal with him right away. He’s starting to get creepy, and I don’t like it. I mean it, Vi. If he contacts you again, I want to know immediately. This is borderline harassment, and we might needto consider a restraining order. We should start documenting everything just in case.”
“I didn’t realize it was that serious, but now that you point it out, I see what you mean. I’m sorry, Rox. I won’t do it again. I was trying to not give him energy, but I understand it’s different.”
“It’s okay. I’ll always be here to look out for you.” She squeezes my hand. “Do you want to stick a pin in the show or Jackson?”
“Well, what do you think we should do to deal with Jackson?” I ask.
“I think you should forward me a copy, and we can both save the email as well as a photo of it. Then I think you message him back that you want him to stop contacting you, and if he doesn’t, you’re going to get the police involved. After you send the reply, block him. He doesn’t get to continue to have access to you.”
“How long will it take to do all that?”
“I’m halfway done,” Roxy replies in a knowing tone.
“Okay, I’ll wait, and then we can get back to enjoying our night.”
The doorbell rings while she’s working on my phone. I hop up and answer. It’s the pizza guy. I take the pizzas and thank him. By the time I return, Roxy has finished and is on her way to the kitchen, probably for paper towels and drinks.
I set the box down next to my phone on the coffee table.
“All done,” Roxy beams, entering with two glass bottles of Coke.
