Would they make herforget what I’d said about fucking holes?
I couldn’t even remember my words without cringing.
But my ol lady had zero intention of forgiving me. That was fine. I was stubborn as a mule and I was going to wait my sweet girl out. . .
That first date had been a Sip ‘n’ Paint, something I thought Polly would enjoy because of her love for art.
She went docilely enough with me, but it was like her entire spark was gone. There was no sparkle in her eyes, no joy in her face.
I feltdesperateto bring it back.
“Polly, please,” I hissed at her, as I attempted to mix colors to match the pomegranates in the bowl.
She didn’t even turn her head.
“What?”
Her voice was so colorless, like it was dulled by pain, and there was an unfamiliar lump in my throat. “Please forget what I said. I didn’t mean it. I hate that I hurt you.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you can forget,” she said.
Fuck, and of course she was right. There was nothing I could do or say to erase that memory. All I could do was try to drown it out with better ones.
Her curls were shining and I wanted to touch them so badly, bury my hand in her hair. A month ago I could’ve pointed to the supply room and she would have sucked my cock in it.
Now I had fucked that up.
“It’s fine, Abraham. Don’t worry about it.”
But it was not fine.
My failure was all I could think about it. My words had done this.Mywords had made her withdrawn and distrustful. And I’d broken our agreement that I would respect her.
Even though it went against all my instincts as MC Prez, I never pushed, never used my power to pressure her. Polly slept on the bed and I slept out on the couch, and each morning I asked if she was up for a date that night.
Sometimes she’d say yes, sometimes she’d say no.
But I took the answer I was given and tried the next day.
There were so many times I almost automatically whistled to her for a quick fuck, or slapped that nice juicy ass, and then I had to remember with a sick feeling of nausea that I’d fucked up the best thing that had ever happened to me.
The next date was to a fancy restaurant.
Then I tried the art museum.
Polly was still here. She hadn’t run away. That meant I still had a chance. Hopefully.
When we went for a picnic dinner on top of a mountain, to watch the sunset, Polly only sighed in irritation.
My skin was buzzing from her proximity, my cock pressing against the seam of my pants.
It was sheer torture being this close and unable to touch her.
“This is all completely unnecessary,” Polly said in a disinterested voice, putting down one of the sandwiches I’d painstakingly made that afternoon. “You didn’t even put that job ad in the paper or know about it. You were very clear that this was just a physical thing. So why are you dragging it out? Just let me go. I’ve got Hinge matches to check.”
“What the hell?” I barked out, clutching at the picnic blanket so hard that all the dirty dishes smashed together. “You aren’t going on any damn Hinge! You don’t need another man. You have one right here.”
Polly turned and met my eyes full on.
