I’d literally seen the aftermath of his MO with my own eyes, and I’d still believed deep down inside that I was different. That he wouldn’t climb out of bed with me and get straight to work on getting in bed with someone else, and yet that was exactly what was happening.
“I can’t do it right now, but I will,” he was saying, and I heard the smile in his voice. “Just be patient. I’ll come over first thing in the morning.”
First thing in the morning? Holy hell. He really doesn’t wait for grass to grow under his feet. My first instinct was to march in there and confront him about it, but before I could convince myself to actually do it, I remembered that I’d known all along who he was.
A playboy. A guy who sleeps around without ever giving a second thought to the girl who’d come before the next one.
He’d never done anything to lead me to believe that we were in an exclusive relationship or even in any relationship at all. I’d seen firsthand his reaction when he was confronted by a woman about it, and it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. It wouldn’t get me anywhere, either.
I was the one who kept letting myself forget that I wasn’t anyone special to him. If I’d needed any proof of that fact, I had it now. So instead of going in there and having him look at me like he’d looked at that girl in the park that day, like she was seriously misguided and there was something wrong with her for coming at him about it, I turned and went back to his bedroom.
Grabbing my clothes off the floor as I went, I got dressed as fast as I could and didn’t even bother trying to do anything about my hair. All I needed was to get out of there, finish his house, and put him behind me.
For real this time. For good.
“Larisa?” He had the gall to sound confused when he spoke from the doorway. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”
“Home,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even. He didn’t deserve to know how upset I was. “Thanks for the meal and the, uh, everything, but I have to go.”
“Why?” He walked into the room and sat down on his bed, his head cocked as he opened his arms and motioned me to him. “Please don’t leave. I was really hoping you’d spend the night.”
I didn’t go to him. Sliding my shoes on, I spoke to him over my shoulder. “It was a lovely evening, but I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I really do have to get back to my own place.”
There. I’d been polite, I hadn’t given him any signs of how much he’d hurt me, and now I was leaving. And I’m not ever coming back here.