I shut the door—the door—behind me and leaned back against it, waiting to hear his Jeep pull away.
Go, Miles.
He didn’t.
What the hell are you doing?
I went into the bathroom and peeked out the window. His Jeep was still there in the driveway, and he had his head in his hands.
My heart ached for a second before I thought, He can’t handle emotions. No surprise there.
But what was he feeling? Regret? Sadness? Indecision? Maybe he was just waiting for his hard-on to go away. I bit my lip¸ wondering what would happen next. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to happen… If he got out of the car and knocked on the door, would I let him in? And for what? More sex? What the hell else did he have to offer?
And the more sex we had, the more attached I got.
No. I couldn’t do it.
Go, Miles. Before I fall in love with you.
The next second he was peeling out of the driveway and taking off down the street.
Backing away from the window, I grabbed my suitcase from the front hall and avoided looking at the door. I trudged upstairs and unpacked, telling myself that this was for the best—a clean break while we were still on good terms. I needed time to heal, and he needed to time to grow up.
Something told me I’d get there first.
• • •
I didn’t hear from Miles for three weeks, nor did I reach out to him. I thought about it a million times, but each time I picked up the phone, something told me not to do it. He’d probably just think I was trying to rope him into a relationship, pressure him to be someone he’s not. And since he wasn’t texting me, I figured he didn’t miss me like I missed him.
And I missed him so much. It shocked me how much—after all, I was used to short, intense bursts of his company and then nothing for long periods of time. But this time when we said goodbye, he took a piece of me with him, and I felt the loss like a sickness. I missed his eyes, his laugh, his voice, his terrible dirty jokes, and his obscene mouth. I missed the way he smelled, the way he breathed, the way he looked at me. I missed sexy things like the roll of his hips, the stroke of his tongue, the depth of his body inside mine. I missed silly things like the way he reached for his glasses when he woke up, the way he defended his plastic forks, the way he panted for cinnamon buns. Didn’t he miss them? Maybe he was really just a love the one you’re with kind of guy, and he was on to the next breakfast pastry.
Then he called me.
It was a Saturday night in mid-July, and Skylar and Jillian were over helping me paint the kitchen a soft gray color that reminded me of the t-shirt Miles had given me to sleep in. I’d left that t-shirt on his bed after giving it a little spritz of my perfume, just to torture him. Wonder if he washed it yet.
“Nat, your phone’s ringing.” Skylar glanced at me over her shoulder. She was standing on a ladder near the sink, and my phone was on the counter. “It’s Miles.”
“It is?” My heart immediately started beating faster, but I took a deep breath and kept concentrating on my brush strokes where I was cutting in around the base molding.
“Yes. Don’t you want to answer it?”
“Not really. I’ll call him later.” Not only did I not want to talk to him in front of my sisters, but I didn’t want to seem too available. Better to let him think I was busy on a Saturday night.
Jillian, who was taping off the wall behind the kitchen table, poked her head up. “So what happened with you guys, anyway? I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to ask you about the trip to Detroit.”
I shrugged and tried to play it cool. “It was fun.”
“How fun?” she wanted to know.
“Very fun,” Skylar put in. “She told me she was sore for days afterward.”
Jillian gasped. “Is that true? You slept with Miles?”
“Oh, they did more than sleep.” Skylar set her roller in the pan and came down the ladder. “Anyone want some wine? It’s about that time.”
“Me,” Jillian and I said together.
Skylar pulled a bottle of white out of my fridge and unscrewed the cap. “Tell Jilly about the closet.”
My face went hot as my phone pinged with a voicemail. What had he said?
“Closet?” Jillian went to the cupboard and pulled three wine glasses down. “What happened in the closet?”
“He tied her up!” Skylar squealed before I could even get a word out.
“Eeeeeep! Is that true?”
“True,” I admitted, painting over the same spot for the tenth time. The memory of being tied up and blindfolded in the closet rendered me breathless for a moment. Miles’s tongue running up my body, his hard cock lifting me up from behind, the way he’d come all over my ass…oh, God. I’d probably never experience anything that hot ever again. “And blindfolded me and talked dirty and did amazing things with his tongue.”
“Wow.” Jillian’s voice was wistful. “I’m impressed. And jealous.”
“Nat was due some hot sex.” Skylar handed me a glass where I was sitting on the floor, but I got up and joined them at the table. “It had been months or something since she’d been with Dan.”
Jillian blinked at me in surprise. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I took a sip of wine, but it tasted off to me. “Skylar, was this already open or something in my fridge? It doesn’t taste right to me.”
“Really?” She drank from her glass and then from mine. “Tastes fine to me.”
Jillian sipped hers. “It’s fine. Now let’s get back to the sex thing. Why hadn’t you been sleeping with Dan for that long?”
Frowning, I set my glass down. “Because things weren’t good with us, and they hadn’t been for a while. I was just too stubborn to admit it.” I told Jillian what I’d told Skylar about the breakup, what I’d learned about his cheating, how he’d apologized but I’d decided breaking it off was the right thing.
“Have you guys talked?” she asked.
“Yeah. It was hard,” I admitted. “We met for coffee last week and talked some things out. He was up for trying to make it work, but I think that’s more laziness than anything else. He’s not crazy in love with me, and I’m not with him. He went about it the wrong way, but he was right in seeing that we weren’t happy.”
“And Miles?” she pressed. “What about him?”
I shrugged, but my stomach clenched. “Miles just came around at the right time. He was there when I needed a friend, someone to talk to, someone to tell me I was doing the right thing—”
“Someone to fuck you in the closet,” Skylar finished, smiling from behind her wine.
“Exactly.” I toyed with the stem of my glass. “But really, it was too soon for me to start up with anyone.”
“Why? Are you in some kind of Victorian mourning period?” Jillian asked.
“No.” Thinking about Miles had me warm all over. God, I missed him. “But Miles isn’t into me that way, anyhow.”
“What?” Jillian rolled her eyes. “Yes, he is. He’s just too stupid to know it.”
“Or he’s too scared to admit it.” Skylar shrugged. “But I agree with Jilly. I think he’s way into you and always has been, and I think he was the handsome stranger Madam Psuka was talking about.”
“Please. Not that again.” I tried another sip of wine, but it still didn’t taste right to me. “It’s not Miles. Besides, he’s moving to San Francisco anyway.” Ending any chance for us before it even began. Why did he have to be such an ass when he was so hot and sweet and funny too? It was so unfair, the feelings I had for him, the chemistry we had. It would never amount to anything more than one hot weekend when we could have been so much more.
“He is?” Skylar looked surprised. “When? He told me he wanted to come to my wedding. He can’t move to California.”
“The world doesn’t revolve around your wedding, Skylar,” I snapped harshly.
She looked annoyed. “I never said it did, Judy Moody. Sheesh. What’s with you lately?”
“I’m going through shit, OK?” I stood up and carried my glass to the sink, tossing the wine down the drain. “And you’re constantly talking about the wedding and honeymoon and gifts and seating arrangements and flowers and I’m just tired of it!” I stared into the sink, ashamed of myself.
“What the hell, Natalie?” I heard the plunk of a glass being set on the table.
“OK hold on.” Jillian came over and put a hand on my back. “You’re definitely going through shit, Nat, and it sucks, but don’t be an asshole to Skylar. She hasn’t been that bad about the wedding.”
I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Sky.”
“It’s OK,” she said quietly. “I should be more sensitive to the breakup.”
“No, really. I’m fine about the breakup. I’m just…” Tears welled, and a few spilled over before I even knew what was happening. “I’m just emotional lately. And tired.” So, so tired. Every morning this week it felt like my alarm went off earlier and earlier, and even naps didn’t take the edge off my fatigue. “You know what, you guys? Let’s be done with this for tonight. I’ll clean up and you guys can go do something fun with your Saturday night.”
“Are you sure you’re OK?” Jillian rubbed her hand along my spine.
“Yes.” I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “I’m fine. And I kind of just want to be alone.”
They helped me clean up, hugged me tight, and left.
The minute I shut the door, I grabbed my phone and ran up to my room, where I curled up in bed and listened to Miles’s voicemail.
At the sound of his voice, my entire body shivered.
“Hey you. Haven’t talked to you in a while. It rained here today and it reminded me of you. Then I had to jerk off in the shower because I couldn’t stop thinking about that morning.”
I smiled as my belly fluttered. Some things would never change.
“I thought of you in the shower too, in case you were wondering. And on the couch, and in the kitchen, and in my bed…”
The smile faded as I thought about his bed and wondered if he’d had anyone in it since I left. The thought made me sick to my stomach.
“Anyway, I miss you and want to hear your voice. Give me a call if you want.”
I played the message again and again and again, missing him more each time, that ache in my chest growing stronger. That’s why you can’t call him back, I told myself. You’ll only want him more.
Setting the phone aside, I switched off my lamp and rolled on to my belly. But my breasts were sore because I was about to get my period, so I flipped over onto my back. That must be why I’ve been so moody this week. I didn’t even think about that. Maybe that’s why I’ve been tired too, although I’ve never had PMS this bad before. I bet it’s the new pill. I’d switched brands last month because I’d had too much spotting, but was this one was going to make me feel awful every month? I couldn’t win. Maybe I’d go off it altogether. Not like I had a lot of sex on the horizon anyway.
Cranky at the thought, and suddenly hot under the covers, I kicked them off and lay like a starfish, making a mental note to call the doctor next week after my period was over.
Except that it never arrived.