It was true. As much as I cared for Natalie, I wasn’t ready to promise that I’d be up for the role of homeowner, husband, and father. And she wanted that. She deserved that.
I’d only disappoint her.
I heard the water go off upstairs, and I knew I had to go get ready for dinner or we’d be late. I scooped up the rest of my clothes and headed upstairs, reaching my room just as she opened the bathroom door.
Something gripped me hard at the sight of her standing there in a towel, hair dripping, face flushed, skin damp. My stomach knotted, my throat went dry, my hands flexed.
Oh, Jesus.
I couldn’t speak. I felt sort of sick to my stomach, too. And my chest—what the hell was going on in there? Was it love or cardiac arrest? Fucking hell, did people actually like this feeling? It was horrible!
I was going to die.
The look on his face was one I’d never seen before, somewhere between shocked and nauseated.
“You OK?” I asked, holding the towel tightly around me as I walked toward him. I’d spent the last ten minutes feeling kind of aggravated with him, but he really did look bad.
“Uh. No. Yes.” He swallowed hard. “Maybe.”
“We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.”
“I’m fine.” Now he just looked frightened. “I want to go out.”
“OK.” He didn’t look fine at all. Had I done something wrong?
He went into the bathroom without another word, shutting the door behind him.
What the hell? I threw my hands up. I get that you don’t do relationships, but could you please do civilized, if not friendly?
Men.
Seriously, why did women even bother?
Grumpy, I towel-dried my hair and pulled on my panties and dress, zipping it up as far as I could. I took my blow dryer and makeup bag to the downstairs bathroom, and while I blew out my hair, I let my resentment stew and gave myself a good ten minutes of envious grumbling that Skylar had managed to find someone like Sebastian—gorgeous, sweet, smart, kind, and totally devoted to making her happy. I knew it hadn’t been easy for them, but they sure made it look that way now.
When my hair was dry, I pinned it up in a twist, brushed my teeth, and put on my makeup. Upstairs, the door to the bathroom was open, and my breath caught when I saw Miles standing at the mirror in a blue suit, fussing with his hair. I’d never seen him in a suit before. He looked so…mature. Classy. Stylish.
Like a real gentleman.
He caught my eye in the mirror. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling the heat in my cheeks. And my panties. “You look very handsome. I love the suit.”
“Thanks.”
“Can you zip me up all the way?” For some strange reason, I felt shy as I walked into the bathroom and turned around. For heaven’s sake, we’d been naked and sweaty less than an hour ago.
“I think I can manage that. Although usually I’m unzipping dresses.”
“Ha, ha.” I didn’t exactly like the reminder of how many dresses he’d unzipped, but I was glad he’d made a joke. He seemed so on edge. And was it my imagination, or did he touch me as little as possible while zipping the dress? Now you’re just making shit up. Relax.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He didn’t take my hand as we walked down the hall, he didn’t stand too close to me in the elevator, and he barely spoke to me on the ride to the restaurant. Something was definitely off with him. “Are you OK?” I asked as we pulled up at valet parking.
“I already answered that question. Yes.” He didn’t even look at me.
A doorman ushered us down the stairs into a dark, cozy underground space. Intimate booths lined the walls, black linens topped the tables, and candles gave the room a soft warm glow. We were seated at a table at the edge of the dance floor, and I hoped maybe Miles would ask me to dance at some point in the evening, just for fun, but he never did. In fact, the night was just one disappointment after another where he was concerned. The setting was romantic and elegant, the food and wine delicious, the jazz standards played by a trio next to the small dance floor enchanting—it should have been the perfect date, and it would have been, except that Miles was kind of an asshole all night.
Never mind the limited conversation and eye contact. Once he got a drink in him, he made several comments about our waitress’s awesome rack, he took two phone calls from his editor, he texted at the table, and he flirted openly with the female bartender when we moved to the bar after our meal. He even gave her his number! Right in front of me! By the time we paid the bar tab, I was fuming. I’d known he was a flirt and player, but he’d never been so disrespectful to me. It wasn’t like him at all.
Clearly the magic was gone.
My throat constricted, and I swallowed hard. Is this it, then? This is how he pulls away?
It pissed me off, actually. I got that I wasn’t his girlfriend, but I wasn’t just another one of his blog bunnies or whatever. Or wait…was I? After all, there was a post about me now. Good old Cinnamon Buns. I chewed my bottom lip.
Still, he shouldn’t treat me this way. And if he thought I was going to jump into bed with him when we got back to his apartment, he had another thing coming.
The ride home was uncomfortably silent, as was the elevator ride up to his floor. I could have laughed aloud thinking about how different our earlier return to his apartment had been—we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. What the hell had happened since? I racked my brain trying to come up with what I must have said or done to scare him off, but I couldn’t think of anything.
It’s nothing. This is the way he is. He’s the kind of guy who just wants sex and once he gets it, he’s done. Even with you. Why are you surprised about this? You’ve known this about him for years!
You never should have slept with him.
Angry at myself and him, I stomped down the hallway and waited stiffly for him to unlock the door. When he opened it, I stormed through the apartment and went right upstairs to pack my stuff. I wanted to be ready to go first thing in the morning. Biting back sobs, I folded up clothes, wound the cord around my hair dryer, and tossed everything in haphazardly. Once everything was packed, I took off my heels and dress, but realized I hadn’t brought anything to sleep in.
Of course, Miles chose that moment to come upstairs, and he found me standing there over my suitcase in my underwear, arms folded across my chest. “Hey,” he said grimly.
“Do you have a shirt I could sleep in, please?” I asked, careful to keep my tone and expression impassive.
“Sure.” Moving slowly, he went into his closet and came out with a folded gray t-shirt.
“Thanks.” I grabbed it from him, turned away, and threw it on.
He sank down onto the bed and sighed. “Natalie, I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Avoiding his eyes, I pulled the pins out of my hair and dropped them into my makeup bag.
“For being an asshole tonight. I’ve been downstairs hating myself ever since we got back.”
“Whatever. No big deal.” I breezed by him and went into the bathroom, where I pulled a clean washcloth from a bathroom drawer, wet it with warm water, and started scrubbing off my makeup. I had no intention of letting him see how much he’d hurt me.
He came and stood in the bathroom doorway. “It is a big deal. You’re angry.”
“I was, earlier. But now I realize that was stupid. You were just being you. You don’t owe me anything.”
He flinched. “Yes, I do. An explanation, at least.”
I shrugged and rinsed out the cloth, hanging it on a towel bar.
“Hey. Look at me.” He took me by the shoulders and forced me to face him. “I need to tell you something.”