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Tess

I don’t know what else to do but be here. I made him call me whenever he was done taping. I got upset if he didn’t. I am his trigger. He knocks the wind out of me.

“We were doomed.”

He grins, kisses me on the top of my head, and orders us more drinks. We sit in the silence of his revelation. There’s no way we had a chance if he was harboring all of that. Especially once my heart flipped and put him ahead of my work. He didn’t see it as a partnership. He saw it as a trap. One I didn’t set.

I finally say, “I never wanted you to change. I didn’t care how much you worked. I wanted to be deemed as important as work or maybe a hair above it.”

He toasts me and says, “I did a surprisingly good job hiding my fuck up, didn’t I?”

My brow furrows. “Don’t be pithy, Alex. It wasn’t fair what you went through. It’s not how relationships are supposed to work. I know this even though you’re the only relationship I ever really cared about. Thank you for telling me.” My mind swings towards resolution. He’s never crawling out of the hole he’s put himself into. And he’s never going to see me as anything other than a burden. I sigh.

“That’s a rather good sigh there. What do we do now?”

“Alex, that’s a lot to take in. And out of courtesy of being an ex-girlfriend, I won’t say what I really want.”

“I grant you privileges.” He takes my hand. It’s warm, familiar, and intoxicating.

I say without malice, “You’re a fucking coward. You should’ve told me highlights of this story at Clyde’s when you told me about your father. Next time you find a potential girlfriend, trust her early on.” The potential word girlfriend almost gave me a heart attack. I can’t believe I got the sentence out. The thought of him with anyone else kills me but isn’t that what this conversation is about.

“Would you still have slept with me?”

“Would you still have flown to Atlanta?”

He grins that smile that makes me happy, sad, and wet.

“Duly noted. Observation not falling on deaf ears.” He lets my hand go and puts them on his knees. He says, “Now, Ms. McGuire, what do you want out of tonight?”

Time to move on. No more dwelling. I sip and think long and hard about what it is I want tonight. I don’t think I can walk away from him. I want one last night, where we both know it’s the end. I subtly rearrange the girls and lick my lower lip. I know he’s watching. “You were asking who I’m dressed for?” He fidgets in his seat and leans in, and whispers. The smell of leather, soap bubbles, and fresh-cut summer grass overpower my self-control.

“It’s fucking killing me, this stunning dress, gorgeous face, and what I know matches underneath is for someone else. I know it’s not for me. I gave up that right. I’m not pushing that agenda. Tell me whether to order another drink or if I’m priming you for a date with another man. Who I’ll have to kill.”

I say nothing in the face of his open, misguided, and sweet jealousy. I’ve always loved how possessive he is of me despite what he just told me about obsession and possession. Our version of it was pure, never wielded like a weapon.

I turn to the bartender and away from him. The last time I let the moment happen, I tumbled into him. Maybe I can fall for a moment then put him right back in the darkness I’ll deal with later. His crooked smile compels me to make terrible choices. He reaches for his wallet, and I’m about to plunge into a place I’m not sure I can get out of, but I’ll enjoy the tumble for tonight.

“Can we get two perfect Manhattan’s with Booker, please?” He puts his wallet on the bar. We’re looking at each other like we’re trying to find Waldo in a puzzle. I raise my glass. “To Joan, who I’ll be giving a Humanitarian award to in two hours.”

He clinks my glass. “To Joan.”

I slip into a terrible, wonderful idea.

“There’s dinner and...” That would be a monumentally terrible idea. And then he uses my memory against me.

He cocks his head, touches my arm lightly, and it’s instantly hot under his touch. It’s our kinetic magic. He brushes the shell of my ear with his lips. “Just leap.”

My body shivers all over like I’ve been doused in pixie dust, and I exhale, “…And a vacant place setting for our former friend. If you plan to eat tonight or have any interest in a semi-sappy, but completely true, speech by a well-read, but not always a well-received writer—”

“Author.”

“You know my thoughts on that.” I look down.

His hand is on my lower back. “I don’t share your philosophy. It seems I have an opening in my schedule tonight.” He’s trying to be cute, but he sums up why we’re broken up. We look for the opening instead of scheduling each other. Tonight, he gets a pass. I’ll keep him at the edges of this fairy tale moment so I don’t lose myself.

I deserve to feel good tonight. There’s always time tomorrow to go back to what could have been. I intend to get lost in him tonight or possibly get found. I’ve no control as his smell envelopes me. I want him. I want to ride him. No. It’s like I’m in heat.

“Just dinner, conversation, and drinks, Mr. Bishop.” I lie to myself.