CJ

After the past week, I thought I knew what making love felt like. But just now in the car, with Graham’s breath in my lungs and his heart beating in sync with mine and every kiss feeling like a confession that he feels the way I feel . . .

I’ve never been so close.

So deep.

So completely in harmony with another person.

I know he feels it, too.

At least, I strongly suspect that he does.

I suspect it enough to climb up onto the high dive, wiggle my fingers in the rare air up here, where the wind is wild and full of possibilities, and seriously consider taking a leap into the great unknown.

As soon as Graham closes the door behind us and flips on the lights in his apartment, moving into the kitchen to fetch the mountain of take-out menus from the drawer, I draw a deep breath, turn my courage up to maximum strength, and say, “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about my parents.”

He looks up from rifling through the menus, his brows raised. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, my mom died when I was so young, I don’t remember what her relationship with my dad was like.” I keep my tone casual as I wander to the island, crossing my arms on top. “And then Dad married Betty, and that’s a total circus. I mean, I know they care about each other, but he literally does anything my stepmother tells him to do. It’s like he got a lobotomy along with that wedding ring.”

Graham snorts. “Well, Betty is a pretty hot number. Better men than your dad have been sucked into a siren’s sex vibe.”

“Gross.” I make a gagging sound, and Graham laughs.

“Old people do it, too, baby. Or so I hear, when my mom has a few too many hot toddies on Christmas Eve and overshares about her last ski trip with the old man.” He holds up two brightly colored menus. “Thai food from the spicy curry place, or the place with the killer summer rolls?”

“But that’s why I love your parents,” I say, determined not to be swept off course by food, no matter how starved I am. “They still love each other so much, even after all the years and everything they’ve been through. It makes me want to believe that love can last, even though I haven’t seen it up close in my own life.” I swallow, my tongue sweeping out to dampen my dry lips as I inch closer to the edge of that diving board, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What about you? Do you think romance can last forever?”

He pauses, shaking his head as he glances down into the drawer. “I don’t know, Butterfly. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

I freeze. I can’t move. Can’t speak. I don’t even want to think. I want to rewind this moment and change the script, make different words emerge from his mouth.

But I can’t. The truth is out and there’s no going back.

I’ve never felt anything like that before.

As cold, harsh reality hits, I’m suddenly tumbling, falling . . . but not down into the sparkling water. I’m stumbling backward off the wrong end of the diving board, plummeting toward the concrete on a collision course that’s going to leave me battered and bruised.

He’s never felt anything like that before.

Which means he doesn’t feel it for me.

This is one-sided. This is me, the wide-eyed virgin, falling for the first guy she slept with. My chest heaves, and a stupid hitch tries to work its way up my throat. But I won’t let on that I’m every bit as much of a fool as I’ve feared.

Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and fight like hell to maintain a calm facade. If I stay strong, I can try to preserve our friendship, our working relationship. That’s what matters now.

Don’t let on, CJ.

He clears his throat, and when he looks up again, he’s smiling and holding a dark menu with sushi on the front. “How about sushi? Keep dinner classic and elegant after a day of adventure?”

I stare at him, amazed that this is so simple for him, astonished that his stomach is his top priority when the floor is slipping from under me.

But his focus on food is further proof that I’m in this alone.

And I need to extricate myself from this situation the same damn way.

My lips part to say sushi is fine, but I can’t seem to make the words come out. I’m too mortified. Too sad. Too deep in grief for what’s never going to be.

But thankfully, Graham’s cell buzzes at that exact moment, sparing me from saying sushi is fine for heartbreak, thank you very much—my one piece of good luck this evening.

He picks it up and is silent for a moment.

“Whoa, slow down, Brian.” Graham paces out of the kitchen into the dining area overlooking the Hudson. “Is she okay? Are you okay?” He nods, pacing faster. “Got it. No worries. You go have a baby. I’ll take care of everything else.” More nodding, and now a hand raked through his hair. “Absolutely. And let us know how it goes. We’re all rooting for you guys and a safe, easy birth.”

Graham ends the call and turns back to me with a huff of breath. “Babies.” He laughs once. “They don’t come on a schedule, do they?”

My brow pinches. Am I supposed to answer that? But I don’t need to because he keeps going. “I have to head into the office. Brian was putting the finishing touches on our new ads tonight so our ad agency can finalize the package for the board by Monday afternoon. But his wife—”

“Is having a baby.” I force a smile, pretending I’m not in the middle of an emotional meltdown. “I heard. You go take care of business. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you here starving to death.”

“I can order food. I’m a big girl.” I make shooing motions with both hands, pathetically thrilled that I haven’t broken down in front of him. “Now go on, get everything handled. I’ll be fine.”

And I am fine.

Or I will be. I even manage to kiss him goodbye without falling to pieces and crying like an idiot virgin who had no idea how easy it would be to let love become inextricably bound up with pleasure.

But once Graham is gone and I’m alone in his house, with his leather-bound books chosen by an interior decorator, and the pans he never uses, and the sterile decorations in the bedroom that make it clear all this man does here is sleep, the truth settles on my chest, crushing in its weight.

Graham is married to his work.

Work is his steady date, his primary focus, and the drumbeat that makes his heart dance. Women have always been a passion for him, but never as anything more than entertainment, something fun to appreciate and enjoy in his spare time once the work day is done. He told me so himself at brunch when he said he was on a sex-batical because sex complicates everything. Let alone more than sex…

And I am no different than the women who’ve come before me.

I. Am. No. Different.

Tears are rising in my eyes when I’m saved by the bell a second time. Though, this bell is a pack of baying wolves – my landlord’s ringtone.

“Hello,” I sniff as I listen to Arno’s heavily accented voice droning on the other end of the line, telling me that my apartment is all fixed and ready to go. “Really?” I ask, unable to believe such a massive mess was set back in order so quickly. “The sink and the tile and everything?”

“Everything, all done,” Arno confirms. “They fix it all first day and just call me now to say they check and grout is dry. All done. Good as new.”

Well. It looks like the universe is having at least a little mercy on me.

“That’s wonderful.” I stand, heading toward the bedroom to pack my bag, my mind already made up. “Thank you so much, Arno. I’ll be home tonight.”

And then I pack. Because I believe in signs. And all the signs are telling me it’s time to get out before I give any more of myself away to a man who isn’t interested in what I have to give.