The butterflies in my stomach are fighting for space. I've known Jeremy for years, and yet this feels like our first date all over again. Maybe it's because I know what we're going to do tonight. The thought of being beneath his thin muscular body makes me nervous. I know he'll be gentle with me. He always is. It's just the fact that we'll be so intimately connected, like we'll be bandaging the wounds he caused with our bodies. The pain of him leaving me is still kind of fresh. Can having sex together really fix everything?
It will be three hours before he picks me up for our date, and I'm already ready. I'm wearing a cute little one shoulder black dress with yellow ruffles sweeping across it. Briefly, I considered wearing the dress I wore on my first date with Jeremy, but I don't want to seem too sentimental. Besides, he ruined what we had before. Now, we're starting over.
I sit in my room and fidget with my fingers, absentmindedly watching a talk show. My eyes are staring through the television, my mind playing its own movie of how I think the night will go. There's only one possible conclusion, and it ends with Jeremy between my legs, reclaiming me. After tonight, Anders will be nothing but a memory. I'm not sure how I feel about that, though I know I should be elated. Evelyn is right; this is what I need to heal.
The doorbell rings, and I instantly glance at the clock on my bedside table. Maybe Jeremy got overexcited about our date and decided to pick me up early. It would be in his nature to tell me he couldn't wait to see me, to bring me flowers and sweep me off of my feet. He's good at stuff like that. Always the charmer.
I take a deep breath and go to answer the door. Even when my hand reaches around the handle, I take pause. My level of nervousness is almost embarrassing. I've known Jeremy forever; I shouldn't be feeling this way.
When I open the door, a smirk crosses my lips. His face is hidden behind a huge bouquet of roses. One of his classic romantic gestures.
“Hey you,” I say casually.
“Tessa.” The sound of my name causes my heart to drop, and when the flowers are presented to me, it hits my feet.
We stare at each other in equal shock. My eyes are on his face as if it's a horror. And his expression turns from a smile to a scowl as he sees my dress.
“Anders,” his name tastes toxic on my lips.
“That's not the type of dress a girl would wear if she's planning to spend the evening at home.” He pushes the bouquet into my arms as if he's trying to cover up my cleavage.
“What are you doing here?” It's the only thing I can think of to say. He knows I don't want to see him anymore.
“Do you have a date tonight or something?” The question is accusing.
My body suddenly feels weak all over, but I know I have to stand my ground. He and I are finished. I'm moving on with my life. He's just going to have to accept that. “I do have a date,” I say, mustering up all of my inner strength to face him.
“Cancel it.” It's not a request. It's a demand.
“I most certainly will not.” I push the roses back at him, but he doesn't move to take them.
“If you're going out with anyone tonight, it's going to be me.” He stares past the flowers at me, as if they don't even exist. “If anyone is going to be taking that dress off of you tonight, it's going to be me.”
“We're through. I thought you understood that when I left your loft,” the words sound painful coming from my mouth. Knowing that he still wants me hurts somehow. Maybe it's because I still want him too. I can't go there though. Not again. Not when I know the kind of man he is.
“I was only staying away because I thought you needed some time to get over being mad at me. I didn't know you were going to immediately move on and start fucking other people.” He sounds angry but looks wounded. “Please tell me you're not fucking other people.”
“That's none of your business.” I toss the roses at his feet, trying to get my point across.
He gazes down at them with a strange emptiness in his eyes. “Don't do this to me. Please.”
“Don't do what?”
“This.” He doesn't look at me when he says it. “I miss you. I need you. And I'm not leaving here until you forgive me.”
“Then you best pitch a tent on the lawn,” my voice is icy.
“Tessa.” His eyes shoot back up to meet mine. “Tell me how to fix this. Whatever it takes.”
“Leave, Anders. You can't fix this.”
“Well, I can't walk away with you looking like that, knowing what will happen if I leave.” He gestures to my dress.
“What happens after you leave here is none of your business, because I'm none of your business.”
He takes a step closer to me, and I feel my entire body tense. The only thing separating us is the flowers on the floor. They're like a force field keeping him away, and I couldn't be happier that I dropped them. When he's this close to me, it's so hard to resist him.
He reaches up and caresses my cheek. I know I should move back, but I don't. It's like I'm caught between the open door and his body. When my eyes meet his, I feel a rush of emotion pass through me, feelings that shouldn't be there, feelings that had been slowly dying over the week. They're immediately drawn back to the surface from the skin to skin contact.
He slips his hand into my hair, and to my surprise, he twists his fingers into it, roughly pulling me towards him. As I stumble forward, I feel the stems of the roses break beneath my feet. It makes me want to cry. I'm destroying something beautiful, and I can't do anything about it. Just like he's destroying me, and I can't do anything about it. He draws me close until his warm breath is on my ear. Even though he's being rough, all I can feel is desire from his touch. I hate him. Hate that I want him. Hate that this is so hard for me. That I couldn't just walk away.
“Tell me you don't have any feelings for me,” his voice is a low whisper, almost a growl. He slips his other hand around my waist, and I take another small step forward. More roses are crushed beneath the weight of my heels. His body is so close to mine. So dangerously close.
“I don't.” It's a lie. I have so many feelings for him that I can't even count them all.
“You're lying to me.” He's completely calm, simply holding me against him.
“You hurt me,” the words come out in a pathetic squeak.
I almost gasp when he pulls me into an embrace. He wraps his arms around me, and I have to fight the urge to melt against him.
“I'm so sorry, Tessa. I'll never do it again,” he sounds sincere, but I refuse to believe him. I can't fall for his bullshit. He'll say whatever it takes to make things better just so he can lie to me again. That's the game he plays.
I wait until he finishes hugging me, saying nothing all the while. I need to put distance between us to recompose myself. When he lets me go, I take a step back, looking at the broken roses on the floor. They're a physical reflection of how I feel inside. This is what he'll continue to do to me if I let him back in.
“I can never trust you again, Anders. You continued to lie to me until I backed you into a corner.” We've gone over this already. If I was a stronger woman, I would just go back inside and shut the door on him, but there's a sick desperate part of me that enjoys being in his presence, even if it's painful.
“I know, and I regret it. I was just so afraid of losing you. Afraid that you wouldn't believe me even if I told you the truth.” He lets his head hang, looking like a beaten puppy. It pisses me off that he can look so innocent when he's anything but innocent.
“I wouldn't have believed you,” I admit. “I still don't believe you.”
“I don't know how else to prove it to you. Even though they show my picture in the consultations, it doesn't mean I'm available to take clients. They show the pictures of all the billionaires, regardless of availability. It looks better if women think they have the full lineup of possible coupling choices instead of the small handful they really have.”
I scoff at his usage of words. Possible coupling choices. He makes it sound like The Billionaires Club is some breeding outfit. It's a painful reminder that he stuck his cock in dozens of women before me. Yet another reason why I shouldn't want him anymore. He's basically a man whore.
“How many women have you slept with, exactly?” I ask, trying to fuel my disgust. The less attractive he is to me, the easier he'll be to let go.
“I don't want to talk about that.” He looks away, his voice suddenly growing cold. It's obvious he knows the answer will put me off. That's why he's avoiding the question.
“It's important to me.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Why?”
“Because it lets me know more about you,” my tone is sarcastic.
“That's not what I came here to talk about.”
“You want me back, right? You said you'd do anything it takes. Answer the question.”
He's visibly squirming now. There are tiny beads of sweat on his brow, and though it could be from the heat of him standing outside fully dressed in one of his suits, I highly doubt it. He knows he's about to blow it again, and there's nothing he can do to stop it if he wants to appease me.
“More women than I can count.” His eyes rise to meet mine. The admission is like a shot to my heart. It hurts so bad, but this is exactly what I needed to hear. “Hundreds of women,” he continues. “I've fucked more women than I can remember, but I've never cared about any of them like I care about you.”
“That's complete bullshit,” I laugh. He just said the most arrogant thing he could say, and now he thinks that little bit of fluff at the end can make it better. What an idiot. All of my emotions are quickly funneling into numbness. This is exactly what I needed. I don't want to feel for him anymore. I want to feel nothing. “You were married,” I point out, in case he forgot. He probably did. Unable to keep his lies straight, this one.
“I was married.” He's unfazed by my erratic laughter. “And I did love her. I was in love with her at one point. I wouldn't have married her if I wasn't. But it's not the same.” He shakes his head. “I was a different man back then. If she had run from me, I never would have chased her. Hell, I wish she would have run from me. Then I wouldn't have gotten my heart broken.” The memory is obviously painful for him. He shifts uncomfortably, pausing to look away for a moment. “The point is that I've never chased a woman before. I've never had to. I've never wanted to. Not until you. You're the first woman that. . .” He bites his bottom lip, searching for the words to say. Silently, I curse him. The veil of numbness is quickly lifting with his confession. I don't want to believe him, but he sounds so sincere. He looks so sincere. And what he said about The Billionaires Club was true. So maybe this is too. “You're the first woman I can't stand the thought of letting go.” He looks away as if I defeated him by making him say it.
My mind is racing. My heart is pounding. And I feel like I'm about to faint. This is too much for me to deal with. I stare down at the broken roses, trying to connect them to my own life, trying to remind myself of their meaning.
“You have to let me go,” I say so weakly that it sounds pitiful.
“Letting you go might kill me,” his voice is every bit as infused with emotion as mine. It's so strange to be standing here with him like this. An hour ago, all he was to me was a lying bastard. Now, it's like our souls are entwined with unspoken pain.
“Being with you might kill me,” I whisper. The tears well up to line my eyes, threatening to spill over and mess up my makeup. I have to get away from him. I can't deal with this now. Not when Jeremy will be coming to pick me up in a few hours.
“I can't change what happened. All I can do is promise to try to be a better man. Please. Let me make this up to you.” He takes my hand in his and places it over his heart. I can feel its steady rhythm, and it's somehow soothing. I stare at his chest, at his strong thick fingers resting on top of mine.
I want to tell him yes. That I'll give him another chance. That we can work on making everything okay. My resolve is breaking down. If he's lying to me this time, then he should win an Oscar, because I'm falling for it completely, despite myself. Fuck him for doing this to me, for finding a way back into my heart after everything he's said and done. He's such an asshole. Such an amazing beautiful asshole.
I open my mouth to speak, but then something steals my attention. My chest tightens into a rock-solid knot as I see Jeremy's SUV drive down the road and pull into the driveway. He's early. He's early, and he's just caught me with Anders. Just caught me in one of the worst possible situations ever.
His arrival is not lost on Anders, though he seems less rattled by it than I am. He glances at the SUV, then back at me.
“Is that him?” he asks.
“Yes.” I nod, quickly pulling my hand away from his chest. My eyes drop to the roses on the floor. This definitely does not look good.
“Please don't go with him.”
“I have to.” I bend down to pick up the roses and then shove them into Anders' arms, trying my best to be strong.
“You don't have to.” He grabs my wrist a bit too tightly, and I wince.
“Anders, let me go.” I pull away from him. “You need to leave.”
“Promise me you won't fuck him.”
My mind is in a total panic. Jeremy is already climbing out of his vehicle. He has his own bouquet of flowers for me, and he's giving us a queer look.
I want to be bitchy and tell Anders I won't make any promises. After all, the whole point of this date tonight was for Jeremy and I to sleep together. At least, that was the point of it for me. But I know that if I don't agree, then Anders won't leave, and that will just lead to more drama. The last thing I need is for the two of them to meet each other.
Timidly, I say, “I promise,” wondering if I just lied to him too.