I didn't like running away from places I found comfort in. I would often stand my ground, but gentle escapes were allowable. I didn’t go by the old watering hole often, but I was not hiding from it. I just needed a new place. A place where Connor and any other ex wouldn’t show up. When Joe called me up to tell me he was in town, I jumped at the opportunity to hang out with him. I hadn’t seen him since the first night I hung out with Connor. He was the guy I left with.

Joe was soft-voiced and delicate, the most enthusiastic lover I had ever had. He was the second person I ever slept with, right after dumping my first boyfriend of four years, when I was twenty-two. We never dated, but our friendship was easy, and five years later, we still had fun in bed.

He was the one I ran to after Avery dumped me. He was easy to run to because it never meant anything. It was blind touching, simple desire, easy to wash off. No guy I had ever been romantically linked to liked Joe. He was quiet, an observer, wealthy. He pulled jealousy from them easily. It was fun to hurt those who had hurt me with his want for me.

For Joe, I was once a cheap thrill. We fucked in cars, in his lake condo, wherever we could. We said goodbye with no words. I needed a nothing relationship like that sometimes. To cleanse the palette.

Joe ordered my drinks when we were out. I didn’t mind. He paid too, so how could I argue? It was a Thursday night when everything changed. When I would have to give all the tricks, all the games, up for good.

Vodka made me pliable, loose, and sometimes fire, angry and coiled tight, ready to strike. I had downed three that night. Joe’s hand was on my leg under the table. It felt warm there, my eyes wrinkled with laughter. Joe’s friends did not run in my circle. I liked that about him, too. I had known him since I was fifteen, twelve years. He had an endless list of acquaintances. There was never a worry of anyone wondering who I was. I liked the anonymity.

Joe didn’t show affection in public. I remember a time when I put my hand on his leg at the bar and he pulled it away. He screamed my name when we were alone, so vocal, so obedient. But in public, we were not to touch. I was a dirty secret, the dirty poor girl.

My phone buzzed on the table just as I was reaching for Joe’s hand beneath the table. I pulled it up onto the table, flipped it over. My stomach fell, heat flushed my cheeks.

Connor’s name lit up my screen. He was calling, not texting. That never happened, but I guess ignoring him had pulled it out of him.

“Excuse me,” I said, dropping down from my chair, walking to the ladies’ restroom.

“Hello,” I hissed into my phone, pushing the swinging door in front of me open.

“Gwen?”

“Yes. What’s up?” Why are you calling me? Why why why?

“Where are you?”

“What?” It was a lame reply, but why was he wondering where I was? We weren’t together. He had seen to that. He didn’t deserve to know where I was; I didn’t owe him an answer.

“Where are you?”

“Why?” My voice was flat as I leaned against the tile of the women’s restroom wall.

"Tell me where you are please. I want to come get you."

"Come get me for what?"

"You know."

Really? He was on this again? I wanted more. An I’m ready to be with you. "Yeah. I do. I don’t need you for that. I’m busy tonight."

"Busy with who? Rich?"

“No.” My voice was firm. No room for questioning. I didn’t want to see Rich again, why was he so hung up on that one? I didn’t want to see any of them again. All of the men who had ripped me open. Joe was safe and easy. There was no chance I would fall for him. I was beneath him. He was just biding his time until he found a Barbie girl. And that's what he would eventually marry.

That night I slept on Joe’s houseboat. When I woke up, my phone showed me several missed calls from Connor. It was unlike him to appear so desperate. My phone died before I could make a decision on how to respond.

I drove home in a haze, muddled. I wanted to get home to charge my cell. I wanted to keep it off for days. I couldn’t keep up anymore. With the back and forth. The sex and the way I choked on my feelings. I never brought up the fact that I still loved him. I just wanted to be with him, any way that I could. But it was draining me, draining my affections for him. How many years could I carry on being nothing more than a fuck buddy to a man who adored me once? I didn’t mean to fall in love with him when it was already too late. I didn’t mean to be a mess when he met me.

When I got home, I didn’t have to make the decision on when to talk to Connor. He was standing on my porch. I pulled in, next to his Range Rover, and turned my engine off. We locked eyes through the glass, and I wanted to cry a little. Instead, I stared at my hands that found their way back to the top of my steering wheel. My knuckles were white and my stomach was a mess.

There are things you can’t explain in life. Connor was one of them. My feelings for him, I couldn’t paint a picture for anyone that would do my heart justice. I tried to love other men. I tried to move on. I convinced myself I did, a few times. My friends hated him at times. Hated me at times for my foolish desire to pin him down. The heart is a beast. A feral monster. And mine wanted this heart. Mine wanted Connor and no one else. And even as I knew that, I was always wondering why I was letting myself break all my rules.

It’s a sad thing to desire being right more than you desire love that will not die. If this was it. If this was him wanting to be with me, would my heart change? Would my love fall away once it was returned?