Page 64 of Hard to Score

I read it again and look down at the stockings connected to garter belts on my legs and sigh.

I got dressed up for him. I spent an hour in Agent Provocateur today, and the silk and lace and heels I’m currently adorned in prove it.

I cooked for him—when cooking is something I rarely make time to do.

I planned a special evening, because I wanted to welcome him home from his road trip. He seemed rather upset earlier when he texted about not touching the field and I thought this—me and a romantic evening—might help take the sting out of it.

The funny thing? I’d debated doing this. In a sense it was me putting myself out there for him. It was more than us meeting up to have a quick and randy bout of sex.

It was my way of showing him I wanted more than that.

All that worry, all those pep talks that I needed to go for it, all this planning, and for what? To be blown off? To be put back in the booty-call only box?

My exasperated laugh echoes around my empty apartment as I try to hide how upset I am.

“You’re losing it, Brex.”

Maybe it was something with his family. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have said something to make him bailing on me more understandable? I know I would.

The needy side of me wishes I would have asked him what it was that came up. The stubborn side of me refuses to.

The first one I refuse to be. Needy can be done in my own thoughts, but never outright. Tears burn in my eyes, and I shake my head as I try to shake the disappointment and my overthinking off. But it’s rather hard to do when I’m dressed like this and the atmosphere is set for seduction.

I grab the bottle of wine I had breathing on the counter, kick off my heels, and plop onto the couch without an ounce of grace.

“Looks like it’s just me and you,” I mutter to the bottle before I take a drink straight from it.

When I rest my head back on my couch and close my eyes for a beat, the first tear slips down my cheek.

I laugh, then I allow myself to be ridiculously pathetic for a few moments.

It’s allowed, right?

I mean, I’ve looked forward to this since we saw each other at the club in Miami. Since the flirty texts we sent to each other while I was in North Carolina and he had a short turnaround to a Thursday night game of the week.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe I want more out of this than he does. It’s not like that hasn’t happened to me before. I read all of the signs wrong with Micah. I jumped all in thinking he was doing the same only to find out later he was bitching to all of his and my friends that I was too clingy, too everywhere. I guess me being everywhere put a damper on him wanting to be everywhere with other women while dating me.

I sigh and take another long sip of Merlot.

But I know I’m not wrong about Drew. Can’t be. I saw the way he looked at me in Miami. I felt the intention in his kisses. I’ve heard his morning voice through the phone and heard the smile in it. I’ve read and reread our shared texts and know I’m not seeing something that isn’t there. I’m not wishing there to be more when it feels like it’s going there naturally.

All of those things suggest there’s more between us than just sex. Maybe he’s afraid to admit it.

Is that what tonight is all about? Did he realize things were moving too fast and so this was his subtle way of taking a step back and reasserting that this is nothing more than casual dating?

Well, I own the notion that whatever is between us is more. I know it is.

I push myself up from the couch, lick my fingers, and extinguish the first candle’s flame by pinching them together. The sharp sting is a reminder to me that I need to be careful. That I need to be the one taking a step back. Drew canceling on me last minute is the perfect moment to put my head and heart in check. It’s the ideal time to realize he was right—that I was planning ten steps ahead versus letting the moment guide us. It’s fine to acknowledge that I’m falling for the boy I gave my heart on a platter to when we were teenagers. But we’re not kids anymore. We’re adults with lives of our own and problems we haven’t shared.

In fact, from this vantage point, it’s apparent that Drew and I are nothing more than the physical. Sure, I have the lingerie on and a nice dinner planned, but isn’t that just window dressing for a booty call? It’s not like we had a night on the town followed by this. In fact, we never have. Shouldn’t that be more than enough to tell me where things between us stand?

Is that a tough pill to swallow?

I take a drink and nod vigorously. Of course it is.

But I think it’s exactly what I need to force myself to step back and recenter my priorities.