It’s Dean’s turn for heartache today, but mine is coming.* * *KaceStella: Something came up and I won’t be able to make it tonight. Rain check?After walking on clouds all day, Stella’s text brings me crashing down. We’ve both been busy this week, but this is my only kid-free day until Saturday, when we’re supposed to be moving Stella into the pool house.
The rational part of my mind tells me I should be patient, that there will be hundreds of opportunities to make love to her and just . . . be near her. Hell, she’s literally moving into my backyard. I shouldn’t be worried about this. I am, though. We’ve barely talked since the weekend, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s slipping away. This is supposed to be casual, and she’s probably seeing other people—especially since I was the one who insisted we not be exclusive—but the idea of her with someone else makes me want to lose my mind. What if that’s where she is now? What if one of the guys she’s seeing showed up at her door, and she decided she’d rather spend time with him?
Maybe it’s unevolved of me, but every primal instinct says she belongs to me, and I’m not willing to share. Which is bullshit, because that’s not what we agreed on.
Dammit. I couldn’t even blame her if she was with someone else right now. Why would she choose the divorced single dad who can’t offer her more than sex and sneaking around?
I glare at the bags of groceries sitting on my counter waiting for tonight. I wasn’t sure what she’d want, so I grabbed all the makings for two dinners: pasta carbonara, like my grandma made it, and filet mignon with gorgonzola potatoes. Doesn’t look like I’ll be preparing either.
I need to text her back and acknowledge her message without letting on how much it’s fucking with me.
Me: I understand. I guess I won’t see you until Saturday, then, but I’m looking forward to it.I read it three times. Short, not overly clingy, but still honest enough. It’ll have to do.* * *StellaFriday night, I’m nothing but a ball of nerves about tomorrow’s move. It’s not the move itself that’s making me miserable, but the idea that I’ll be tied to Kace, geographically, at least, and when this ends, I’ll have to see him all the time.
I’m sick of carrying around this fear—no, this certainty—that when Kace discovers the skeletons in my closet, he’ll end things. Perhaps honesty would be less terrifying than omission. At least then I wouldn’t have to wonder. But I’m so nervous he’ll never look me in the eye again that my hands are shaking when I pull out my laptop, and they’re shaking even harder when I start typing.
ItsyBitsy123: Are you around?
GoodHands69: Hey! Been a while. Yep. Just put my daughter to bed. How are you?I stare at the screen, hands shaking. I need to do this, but I don’t know if I’ve ever been so scared.
ItsyBitsy123: I want to tell you something, and I want to say it now while I’m feeling courageous.
GoodHands69: Okay . . . I’m listening.It takes me a long time to type out the message—deleting and rewriting details, adding more and then backing up to go with less. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kace has fallen asleep or moved on with his night, but when I’m done typing, I still reread it three times and try to talk myself out of pressing send. I decide not to mention my college boyfriend by name, since Kace probably remembers him and I don’t know that he wouldn’t go after him.
I don’t know why I want to share this story with Kace when I’ve been too chicken to share it with anyone else, but I do. For some reason, I need him to know this secret, need to remind him I’m still the mess who’s never been good enough. So I send it.
ItsyBitsy123: You know my last boyfriend took me on vacation. I thought we were good together for the most part, but the truth is, I struggle with getting guys to take me seriously, and I was trying extra hard with Bobby. Guys want sex and then get bored with me and move on, and maybe that’s my fault, but . . . Anyway, I wanted it to be different this time, so I decided no sex until things were really serious. I thought our vacation would be the perfect time, but right after we got to the resort, his buddy sent him a link and Bobby decided he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.
You see, when I was in college, I was dating this guy who was really into filming us in bed together. In retrospect, I never should’ve let him, but he said it turned him on, and I wanted him to like me . . . anyway, long story short, there were a lot of films, and I didn’t find out until he’d broken up with me that he’d uploaded them to all kinds of amateur porn sites. I don’t even know how many. I’ll probably never know.