Only You
Page 45
It had been hard enough to close myself off from her today, but it had taken every ounce of strength I had not to give in when she touched my leg and spoke low in my ear and offered to help me work off the tension. She had no idea how badly I wanted to do exactly that—throw her down on the couch and ravish her hot little body, give her all the love and attention I’d denied her today, take my pleasure in pleasing her, show her how grateful I was that she was here, that she was perfect, that she was mine.
But I couldn’t. I had to let her go.
My hands balled into fists as she put on her shoes.
I’d feel better after she was gone, right? Just like I’d felt better after Rachel had gone. Less threatened. More in control. More like myself. It had felt so good to call the shots after she’d blindsided me—again—by showing up at my door and trying to take Paisley away. Maybe I’d been a little harsh, but fuck her for thinking she got to decide everything all the time. For thinking she could come and go with Paisley as she pleased. For treating me like I didn’t matter, like what I wanted didn’t matter. It had felt good to shut off my feelings, assert myself and take command of the situation. Tell her how things were going to go. Lay out my terms. It felt familiar.
That’s all I wanted. To feel like myself again.
Emme walked to the door.
Don’t look at her. Don’t watch her go.
But I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She reached for the handle. And stopped. Turned around.
“No,” she said, as if I’d asked her a question.
“What?”
“No. You don’t get to be just another dick that blows me off without a good explanation. I’m worth more than that.”
So much more. But I couldn’t give in. “All I said was that I needed some space.”
“That’s bullshit. Something is going on with you, and you’re not telling me what it is.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I could have choked on my own self-loathing.
“No. It’s not.” She went over to the lamp and turned it on. “You look me in the eye and tell me nothing has changed since last night. Because the guy I was with last night is not the same person sitting on that couch right now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I met her eyes for exactly two seconds and looked away.
“Yes, you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about. So what the fuck, Nate? Which version of you is real?”
My hands clenched my knees. My stomach churned. “Last night was me trying to be someone I’m not.”
Silence. “Are you serious?”
I swallowed hard, gulping back all the words of apology threatening to escape my lips. “Yeah. I said what I thought you wanted to hear.”
“Why?”
“I was trying to be what you wanted me to be.”
“All I ever asked you to be was honest!”
“Guess I wasn’t very good at it.” Every word out of my mouth was despicable. I felt sick.
“Why’d you ask me to sleep over last night? Why’d you ask me to go with you to your mom’s today?”
I shrugged. “Seemed like things I should ask you to do.”
“Oh, my God. I cannot fucking believe this.”
I risked a look at her, and she’d fisted her hands in her hair.
“I cannot fucking believe I fell for another one of you.” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “It’s not possible.”
Fuck. I did not want to be lumped in with all her other weasel exes who’d made her feel bad about herself. I wasn’t dumping her—I was trying to get her to dump me.
I stood up. “Emme, I’m not saying we have to break things off completely.”
She dropped her hands and gaped at me. “You can’t mean that. Now who’s living in a fantasy world?”
“You wanted me to be honest, so I’m being honest. Last night was more of an act than anything else. I wanted you to have a good time.”
“Oh, my God.” She put up a hand to silence me, but I went on.
“But that doesn’t mean we have to stop hanging out completely. It just means I don’t want a girlfriend. I really don’t have time, with Paisley and everything.”
“Don’t you dare use your daughter as an excuse. This isn’t about her.”
I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest like the stupid asshole I was while she gathered herself up.
“You know what, Nate? You were right about me. I trust too easily. I get carried away. I give up my heart without a fight. Congratulations on showing me the truth.” She walked to the door and opened it before turning around again. “I get it now. Sometimes a fuck is just a fuck.”
Then she was gone.
I couldn’t sleep. Paisley was restless too, and I spent much of the night pacing the bedroom floor, trying to soothe her and trying to convince myself that I’d done the right thing in setting Emme free. I went over and over my reasons, and every single time I came to the same conclusion. Ultimately, it was never going to work. We were too different. We didn’t want the same things. We would have hurt each other in the end.
But it felt fucking horrible.
I kept seeing her face when I told her I hadn’t meant what I’d said Friday night. She’d been so devastated. It was such a shitty way to end things, to lie to her like that, but I’d been afraid that if I wasn’t a complete dickhead, she’d have been understanding and granted me the space I requested.
Crowded. What a fucking joke. I never felt crowded by her. In fact, all I ever wanted to do was get closer.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
How the hell was I going to get over her? Especially living right across the hall? Were we ever going to speak to each other again? God, I missed her already and she’d only been gone a few hours. And what if I saw her with a guy in the hall or something? Some douchebag who didn’t deserve to touch her hair or hear her laugh or hold her hand, let alone see her naked or smell her skin or feel her legs wrapped around him?
Fuck that guy! I’d fucking tear him apart.
No one deserved those things. Not even me.
Especially not me.
I moved Paisley up to my shoulder, and noticed that she seemed a little warm. Immediately I pressed her cheek to mine. It was burning hot. An alarm bell went off in my head.
I turned on the nightstand lamp and saw that her face was flushed. Oh, fuck! What if she had a fever? What should I do?
My first instinct was to go get Emme, but then I remembered that I couldn’t. Dammit! Grimacing, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and called Rachel. No answer.
Fuck!
Should I take her to the emergency room? But what if they asked for information I didn’t have? I didn’t even know her fucking birth date, for God’s sake! Or her social security number, her blood type, her weight, or anything else about her except her name. And I wasn’t even legally her father yet. Would they let me give consent to treat her?
I couldn’t worry about that—I had to take her. What if something was really wrong? I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to her while she was in my care.
“Shhhhh, it’s okay,” I murmured, for myself as much for her. My heart was pounding. “It’s going to be okay.”
I set her in the sleeper so I could quickly get dressed and put some shoes on. Downstairs, I got her into her jacket and car seat, grabbed my keys, and had just gone out the door when my phone vibrated. It was Rachel calling me back.
“Hello?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think she has a fever.”
She gasped. “Oh no!”
“She was fine all day,” I said quickly, as if I had to prove this wasn’t my fault. “She ate and slept and was really good.”
“Did you take her temperature?”
“No.” That hadn’t even occurred to me. I was too busy panicking.
“Do you have an infant thermometer?”
Did I? Had Emme put one in the basket at the baby store? Maybe she did. “Actually, yes. I think so. I’ll look. You don’t think I should take her right to the emergency room?”
But I couldn’t. I had to let her go.
My hands balled into fists as she put on her shoes.
I’d feel better after she was gone, right? Just like I’d felt better after Rachel had gone. Less threatened. More in control. More like myself. It had felt so good to call the shots after she’d blindsided me—again—by showing up at my door and trying to take Paisley away. Maybe I’d been a little harsh, but fuck her for thinking she got to decide everything all the time. For thinking she could come and go with Paisley as she pleased. For treating me like I didn’t matter, like what I wanted didn’t matter. It had felt good to shut off my feelings, assert myself and take command of the situation. Tell her how things were going to go. Lay out my terms. It felt familiar.
That’s all I wanted. To feel like myself again.
Emme walked to the door.
Don’t look at her. Don’t watch her go.
But I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She reached for the handle. And stopped. Turned around.
“No,” she said, as if I’d asked her a question.
“What?”
“No. You don’t get to be just another dick that blows me off without a good explanation. I’m worth more than that.”
So much more. But I couldn’t give in. “All I said was that I needed some space.”
“That’s bullshit. Something is going on with you, and you’re not telling me what it is.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I could have choked on my own self-loathing.
“No. It’s not.” She went over to the lamp and turned it on. “You look me in the eye and tell me nothing has changed since last night. Because the guy I was with last night is not the same person sitting on that couch right now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I met her eyes for exactly two seconds and looked away.
“Yes, you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about. So what the fuck, Nate? Which version of you is real?”
My hands clenched my knees. My stomach churned. “Last night was me trying to be someone I’m not.”
Silence. “Are you serious?”
I swallowed hard, gulping back all the words of apology threatening to escape my lips. “Yeah. I said what I thought you wanted to hear.”
“Why?”
“I was trying to be what you wanted me to be.”
“All I ever asked you to be was honest!”
“Guess I wasn’t very good at it.” Every word out of my mouth was despicable. I felt sick.
“Why’d you ask me to sleep over last night? Why’d you ask me to go with you to your mom’s today?”
I shrugged. “Seemed like things I should ask you to do.”
“Oh, my God. I cannot fucking believe this.”
I risked a look at her, and she’d fisted her hands in her hair.
“I cannot fucking believe I fell for another one of you.” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “It’s not possible.”
Fuck. I did not want to be lumped in with all her other weasel exes who’d made her feel bad about herself. I wasn’t dumping her—I was trying to get her to dump me.
I stood up. “Emme, I’m not saying we have to break things off completely.”
She dropped her hands and gaped at me. “You can’t mean that. Now who’s living in a fantasy world?”
“You wanted me to be honest, so I’m being honest. Last night was more of an act than anything else. I wanted you to have a good time.”
“Oh, my God.” She put up a hand to silence me, but I went on.
“But that doesn’t mean we have to stop hanging out completely. It just means I don’t want a girlfriend. I really don’t have time, with Paisley and everything.”
“Don’t you dare use your daughter as an excuse. This isn’t about her.”
I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest like the stupid asshole I was while she gathered herself up.
“You know what, Nate? You were right about me. I trust too easily. I get carried away. I give up my heart without a fight. Congratulations on showing me the truth.” She walked to the door and opened it before turning around again. “I get it now. Sometimes a fuck is just a fuck.”
Then she was gone.
I couldn’t sleep. Paisley was restless too, and I spent much of the night pacing the bedroom floor, trying to soothe her and trying to convince myself that I’d done the right thing in setting Emme free. I went over and over my reasons, and every single time I came to the same conclusion. Ultimately, it was never going to work. We were too different. We didn’t want the same things. We would have hurt each other in the end.
But it felt fucking horrible.
I kept seeing her face when I told her I hadn’t meant what I’d said Friday night. She’d been so devastated. It was such a shitty way to end things, to lie to her like that, but I’d been afraid that if I wasn’t a complete dickhead, she’d have been understanding and granted me the space I requested.
Crowded. What a fucking joke. I never felt crowded by her. In fact, all I ever wanted to do was get closer.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
How the hell was I going to get over her? Especially living right across the hall? Were we ever going to speak to each other again? God, I missed her already and she’d only been gone a few hours. And what if I saw her with a guy in the hall or something? Some douchebag who didn’t deserve to touch her hair or hear her laugh or hold her hand, let alone see her naked or smell her skin or feel her legs wrapped around him?
Fuck that guy! I’d fucking tear him apart.
No one deserved those things. Not even me.
Especially not me.
I moved Paisley up to my shoulder, and noticed that she seemed a little warm. Immediately I pressed her cheek to mine. It was burning hot. An alarm bell went off in my head.
I turned on the nightstand lamp and saw that her face was flushed. Oh, fuck! What if she had a fever? What should I do?
My first instinct was to go get Emme, but then I remembered that I couldn’t. Dammit! Grimacing, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and called Rachel. No answer.
Fuck!
Should I take her to the emergency room? But what if they asked for information I didn’t have? I didn’t even know her fucking birth date, for God’s sake! Or her social security number, her blood type, her weight, or anything else about her except her name. And I wasn’t even legally her father yet. Would they let me give consent to treat her?
I couldn’t worry about that—I had to take her. What if something was really wrong? I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to her while she was in my care.
“Shhhhh, it’s okay,” I murmured, for myself as much for her. My heart was pounding. “It’s going to be okay.”
I set her in the sleeper so I could quickly get dressed and put some shoes on. Downstairs, I got her into her jacket and car seat, grabbed my keys, and had just gone out the door when my phone vibrated. It was Rachel calling me back.
“Hello?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think she has a fever.”
She gasped. “Oh no!”
“She was fine all day,” I said quickly, as if I had to prove this wasn’t my fault. “She ate and slept and was really good.”
“Did you take her temperature?”
“No.” That hadn’t even occurred to me. I was too busy panicking.
“Do you have an infant thermometer?”
Did I? Had Emme put one in the basket at the baby store? Maybe she did. “Actually, yes. I think so. I’ll look. You don’t think I should take her right to the emergency room?”
