This is the point in every romance book or movie that the couple declares their undying love and find their happily ever after. If my life were a movie, I would shed a single tear, Lucas would kiss me, and I’d tell him I love him too.
My life isn’t a movie, and love is more complicated than that. There’s no perfect declaration ready on the tip of my tongue. I’m so conflicted with how to respond, the only thing I can think of is peeing so I don’t get a UTI.
“Umm . . .”
Excellent response, Whitney. You asshole.
Less than impressed with my response to his declaration, Lucas rolls off me onto his back, forearm hanging across his eyes, and exhales. Instead of kissing him or telling him I love him too, I jump up from the bed like my ass is on fire and hightail it out of the room to the bathroom.
In my defense, I have lived by one hard-pressed rule since college. Pee after sex. Take it from me, UTIs are a bitch. With that thought, I quickly use the bathroom before washing my hands. Standing before the mirror, I chance a look at myself. My hair is still damp, but the messy bun I had earlier is now a lopsided rat’s nest. My skin is flushed, and it’s obvious I’ve just been thoroughly fucked. Adjusting my hair, thoughts of the last hour play through my mind like a silent movie.
No. We didn’t fuck. Lucas made love to me. Slow and tenderly. He didn’t need to say the words, I could feel his love with every movement. Then he said those words and put it all out there for me to pick up. And what did I do? I ran. Like a damn coward, I’m hiding in the bathroom. Naked. I don’t even know how long I’ve been in here. Seconds feel like minutes when I’m spiraling like this.
Grabbing Jessi’s robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, I slip into it before exiting the bathroom. When I return to my bedroom, it’s empty. The bed is rumpled and the room smells like sex. Lucas is gone. My heart drops at the realization that he’s gone. But, isn’t that what I wanted? Needed? I glance at my alarm clock and realize I’ve been in the bathroom a lot longer than necessary, no wonder he left.
Walking down the hall, I hear dishes clanking in the sink. Turning toward the kitchen, I stop in the entry when I see Lucas dressed and packing his cooler. He’s still here. He didn’t leave yet.
“I’m sorry I freaked out.”
Ignoring me, he continues to pack the cooler and set the lid on top when he’s done. Still not turning to face me, he stands with his hands on top of the cooler, face looking straight ahead to the wall.
“Luke,” I whisper as I approach and place a hand on his back. When he flinches it’s like a punch to the gut. He’s hurt. I hurt him.
“It’s fine.” His words are a sharp contrast to the tone he uses.
“Let me explain.”
When he turns to face me, the fire and passion I saw as he made love to me is replaced with hurt and sadness. I welcome the tears that fall from my eyes. I deserve it.
“Please, Luke. I’m just . . . I lo—”
“Whit, you don’t have to say it back. I get it. I moved too fast. I won’t apologize for loving you, because I do.” I gulp back the tears that are a fucking waterfall of my emotions. “I’m going to go. Give you the space you want.”
When he steps up to me, his cooler in his hand, and places a kiss to my forehead, I melt. Forehead kisses are my undoing.
Lucas is my undoing.
But I don’t follow him. I stand in the kitchen, my back to the door as he walks out. I’m not sure if he’ll ever be back. I may have just let the greatest thing to ever happen to me walk away.
At some point after Lucas left, I lay on the cold kitchen floor and cried. I know this because that’s where I am now with Jessi standing over me nudging me with her foot. One nudge. Two nudges. A small kick.
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” I mumble, never lifting my head from the floor.
“Why are you in my robe?” she asks as she kneels down and sniffs.
“You had sex.”
Flying up from my position, we almost bump heads when I look at her wide-eyed. “How do you know that?”
Shrugging she says, “I didn’t, but you’re in my robe and your hair looks like a family of hawks took up residency. Process of elimination.”
I concede to her process of elimination and allow her to help me off the floor. Moving from side to side, I stretch my back and neck. A quick glance at the clock, tells me I’ve been on the floor for at least an hour.
“From the looks of you, I’m guessing we need a talk. On a scale of a pint of ice cream to a bottle of tequila, where are we?”
“Can we make a float?”
“Ouch, that’s bad if we’re hitting both.”
Instead of replying to her statement, I leave her in the kitchen while I go take a quick shower. Dealing with my hair in the morning is going to suck, but I don’t have it in me to mess with it now so I just remove the elastic band holding it up and pile it back on top of my head in a newer version of the rat’s nest it’s been all night.
After quickly rinsing off the reminders of my night with Lucas, I dress in a pair of sweats and T-shirt before joining Jessi in the living room. My best friend is tapping wildly on her phone and quickly sets it aside when she spots me walking toward her. By the look on her face, I’m sure she’s texting Lucas trying to figure out what’s going on.
“I’m not mixing dairy with my tequila so you’re on your own with that,” she says, motioning to the table where a bottle of tequila sits with a shot glass, a spoon, and a pint of cookie dough ice cream. Contemplating both, I opt for the sugar tonight.
“Spill.”
“He told me he loves me.”
“And?” she questions with a spoonful of mint chip in her mouth.
“You saw me last night. I can’t do it, Jess. I’ll wonder every night if he’s getting numbers. If he’s meeting women outside of the club and what he does there.”
“I think you’re counting your eggs before they hatch.”
“I don’t think that’s the saying.”
“Whatever,” she says dismissively. “Whitney, you love him back. Why are you making this so difficult?”
“Jessi, I am not making it anything. I’m being honest. I’m trying to handle this maturely.”
“Is that why you had sex with him? To be mature?”
Ouch. She’s not pulling punches.
“I’m not trying to be a bitch, but seriously. Did you think sleeping with him was the answer? You’re in love with him, Whitney, but you’ve convinced yourself you can’t be in a relationship with him for whatever reason.” I begin to speak, but she cuts me off with a pointed look. Slinking back into my cushion and taking another bite of ice cream, I wait for her to continue.
“Lucas is not Trenton. He isn’t the kind of guy who is going to cheat. And, so what if he is? You’ll never know if you don’t give the poor guy a chance. You’re cutting him off, and any chances of a future, just because you think he might do something one day.”
Well, when she puts it that way . . . I so preferred wallowing in my self-pity. It was a lot easier when I could play victim and blame circumstances for my choices.
“But I’m serious, Jess, I don’t think I can handle his job. It’s not because of Trenton. Seeing him last night was like a slap in the face with a big slab of reality.”
“Then you talk to him about that. See if there’s a compromise somewhere. But, don’t give up on everything just because of a maybe.”
We sit and eat our ice cream together while talking about anything but Lucas. After we both finish off our pints we head to our respective rooms. I have a long week of work ahead and since I hardly slept last night, I need to get as much as I can tonight.
Settling into my bed and pulling the comforter up to my chin, I inhale the scent of Lucas and allow the guilt and conflict to smother me as I fall into a deep sleep. Maybe a new day will bring with it a new perspective.