The universe is testing me, obviously.

And I’m failing miserably.

The minute we got to Brandon’s place and I overheard him talking to Harlan, I said I would get the hell on.

Poof.

Disappear.

Dissolve into a pile of glitter and blow away in the wind, avoiding any and all interaction with the man.

Yet somehow…somehow…

Here I am.

Topless and trying my best to hold onto the little anger I have about what he said to me at the airport, to hide the fact that if he told me to get on the ground and bark, I’d do it.

That if he told me he would give me the world, I’d believe him.

That he has a hold on me unlike anything I’ve ever felt before and I almost prefer the terror of being kidnapped to this feeling of being so aware of one man.

How do people do it?

How do people just give themselves so completely over and over again, dating and loving and intertwining their lives with fickle human beings at the drop of hat.

I’ve never been able to wrap my head around it. Not since what happened.

I’ve watched it from afar, counseled friends on issues I know shit-all about, and never been in danger of falling into the same trap myself.

Until now.

I feel it.

This unexplainable feeling of something unfurling inside of me and peeking above the edge, intrigued. Interested. Ready for whatever the possibilities are.

And I don’t want it.

I don’t need it.

I cross my arms stubbornly, grateful the fog of lust has receded a little bit and I can wrap myself fully in annoyance.

Little hard to take myself seriously when my nipples are still tender and my legs are wrapped firmly around his waist, but we’re rolling with it.

“I’m not interesting in sleeping with anyone who so obviously thinks the worst of me.”

He folds his massive arms behind his head, linking his fingers and leans casually against the dark headboard, his face unreadable. Like he’s settling in.

“And what do I think of you?”

“You called me a gold-digger and a social climber, not to mention you implied I was a cheater.”

He purses his lips together like he’s thinking.

“I was a little horny and a lot of annoyed at the situation. I might’ve been out of line.”

“Might’ve?” Good, something I can latch onto.

“I’m only 98% perfect.” His eyes are laughing and I tear my eyes away, then have to look somewhere else again because my gaze lands on those damn forearms again.

“You must have meant Imperfect. I still haven’t heard an actual apology.”

“And you won’t.”

My jaw nearly drops. All the audacity in the world!

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a firm believer in not apologizing unless you really mean it. And I wouldn’t mean it.” He shrugs like it makes total sense and unfolds his arms, moving to touch me but I swat him away.

Now the annoyance is completely real.

“It sucks that you felt insulted by it, but my opinion would stand about you if you were dating Charlie. Which I thought you were. I am sorry I called you a cheater, though.”

“You’re actually the worst.” I swat his hands away again and untangle myself from him, scrambling off the bed.

“Oh come on, really?” Like some disappointed teenage boy who finds out he’s not gonna get to have sex after prom.

What the fuck is my problem?

“If you see me again, I want you to pretend you don’t.” I snatch my shirt from the floor and wrestle it over my head. It’s still wet from the drink that spilled on me, but oh well. Small price to pay. “Forget we met. Forget this happened.” I circle my finger in the air.

“You think you won’t want me even more the next time we see each other?” I see the flash of his teeth in the dim light, and I can just feel my blood vessels throbbing. “You can keep running away. I’m not gonna chase you. You have my number when you get tired of entertaining men you don’t really want.”

“At least Charlie was raised with a little more home-training and his ego can fit into a room. Yours is like a third, unwelcome person.” I toss back as I slam the door, flying down the stairs and back to where everyone is.

I look for Mickey, but I don’t see her. She’s probably busy getting reacquainted with Brandon. I’m not gonna be a buzz-kill and make her leave with me, because she would.

I grab my sweatshirt from where it was laying over a chair and palm my phone, calling for another car.

I have ample time to stand outside and think about the fact that I almost slept with an immature prick. And worry about why even with that, even with what he said…the further I get away from him, the bigger the pit in my stomach gets.

Hope. That’s gotta be what it is.

It’s nothing more than thinking that for once, maybe I could let myself feel a little more than usual. Maybe I could have someone I was interested in and someone who got me sexually and I wouldn’t have to choose one or the other.

Stupid.

I don’t even know him. I don’t know what kind of person he is, if he goes to church on Sundays or if he hates his mother. If he’s got siblings, if he donates to charity, if he supports social justice. If he likes lazy mornings and hates mushrooms.

You can’t miss something that was never anything to begin with.

I’m sad about the potential, is all.

For great sex, of course. Nothing more.

And I keep repeating that to myself all the way back to my house, and as I crawl into bed alone.

Again.