From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) (38 page)

Without hesitation he takes my hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and kisses it. I don’t want to see his pain or listen to his manipulative ways anymore. We can’t be friends. That much is true and I’m tired of being enemies. I don’t know where that leaves us, but I do know that he’s not healthy for me. I pull my hand slowly from his and turn away. “Don’t,” I whisper.

“Look at me. Please look at me,” he says.

When I do, I see his Adam’s apple move as the weight of what’s about to happen sets in and he gulps heavily. “We should get a table.”

Our eyes lock and he searches mine. His breathing deepens, now well aware that this isn’t going to be good or easy. “Okay,” he says. “There are some in the back.”

The bar is dim, a few lights on the wall and fake candles on a few of the tables. We find a small table with two chairs against the wall near the emergency exit. He pulls my chair out, then sits across from me. Looking over my shoulder, he nods. I glance back and see the waitress coming toward us.

“What would you like?” he asks me.

“Vodka Soda.”

“You used to drink whiskey.”

I nod. “People change.”

“I’ve changed,” he replies.

The waitress interrupts and takes our order, then leaves us alone again. Sitting back in his chair, he looks at me like he’s trying to figure me out. It’s too late for that though. We both know it…
or he should
.

The tension lingers between us until our drinks arrive, obviously we both need the courage liquor provides before delving into this mess. I take a sip, then say, “We can’t be together, Dylan.”

“I’m gathering.” His voice is somber, resolved is more fitting.

“Why did you do this? Why now after all the years that you had the chance? Why’d you come back to destroy the only happiness I’ve had?”

“It has nothing to do with Austin. I know you think it’s because I’m jealous, and I am. Out of control fucking jealous. But I loved you all along. I love you now. I was just too stupid to act on it before.”

I take another sip and watch a man as he passes us, not wanting to see Dylan’s pain. There’s too much in his eyes—history, love, disappointment, even hints of desperation. I feel the same unfortunately. “We shouldn’t have kissed. You had no right to kiss me and I shouldn’t have kissed you back. I hurt Austin. You hurt him too. And for what?”

“For us. For everything that fucking matters to me.”

“I didn’t matter to you three and a half years ago. Why do I matter now? Because you can’t have me?”

“No, because you’re my soul and I’m lost without you.”

“Dylan, no. You aren’t lost. You’re confused. You’re lonely. You’re everything I was three years ago, but that’s your burden now. Not mine.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, leaning closer. “I’ve said it, but you don’t seem to believe me. I made a mistake. I’ll pay for it twenty times over if you please just give me another chance.” He touches my fingers, the ones I have wrapped tightly around my glass.

Lifting my glass to my mouth, his warmth falls away and I drink. When I set my glass down again, I lean forward this time. “We’ll never be together again. You made that decision for the both of us when you walked out our door and never came home.”

“I’m coming home now.”

“It’s not your home anymore.”

“Is it Austin’s?”

“You’ve convinced yourself that Austin is the enemy. But you’re wrong. You’re your own worst enemy, Dylan.” I finish my drink and set the glass down harshly before standing.

He stands, panic in his eyes. “Don’t go yet. Please. Let’s talk this out, Jules.”

“You make it sound like we’re going to work through this to come to a satisfactory conclusion. What would that conclusion be?”

“We’d be together.”

I smile, it’s small and genuine, but it’s one of empathy. I remember feeling that way—when hope turned to desperation. Moving closer, I wrap my arms around his middle and his arms wrap around me, squeezing me. After a few seconds, I back up and say, “You won’t see me again. Goodbye, Dylan.” Turning on my heel, I walk away from him without looking back.

Outside, it’s sprinkling. This time, as I walk away from him, there is no chase or scene out on the sidewalk. I pull my hat down a little so my ears are covered. While walking home, it hits me. I don’t need answers from him. They won’t change the past. They will only cloud my future with doubt. Each step is quicker than the last until I’m running and smiling, feeling free for the first time since that fateful day.

I run up the stairs and into my apartment. As soon as the door shuts, I’m calling, not caring about the hour or that I’m wet from the rain. I just need to talk to him. While it’s ringing, I think about where he is or might be and if he’ll hold true to his promise.

… Then my call goes to voicemail.
“This is Austin Barker. Leave a message after the tone. Thanks.”

“Austin, please call me.” I hang up just as disappointment sets in.

He doesn’t call me for a week.

MY EYES ARE
heavy from the alcohol. I’ve been hanging around the bar all night, not wanting to feel anything. She said numb, but I can’t seem to reach that level of devastation. I still want to call her every damn second of every damn day, but I don’t. My pride keeps me strong when I feel weak, except the third night in London…

The nightclub is loud, sirens going off and lights swirling overhead. It’s cheesy. The music is thumping and I don’t recognize the song, which doesn’t surprise me since I don’t listen to the popular stations. I follow my Director of Expansion in Emerging Markets through the crowd and around the dance floor to the bar. Chip is in his mid-twenties, a Cambridge grad with honors, and judging by the attention he gets, popular with the ladies. I’m no slouch, even next to him, but I’m also not looking. He is. I see the way he scans the room. It’s similar to how he takes his job, very seriously.

“Scotch?” he asks, yelling so I can hear.

I nod instead of bothering with a verbal response. When he hands me a drink, we walk to the end of the bar and get seats just as a couple leaves. He says, “The hottest women in the city flock here on Tuesday nights.”

Turning to look over my shoulder, I check out all the women on the dance floor. Leggy, blondes, brunettes, a few redheads sprinkled in. Models and some actresses I suspect. They’re a unique breed and usually easy to spot. My heart’s not into it though.

“You’re single man. You want to get laid? You’ll have plenty of opportunity tonight.”

“How did you know I was single?” I ask.

“Word spreads fast. Office gossip.”

I don’t know how anyone knows, but there’s no point in pretending it’s not true. “It’s recent.” I shift uncomfortably.

His hand grips my shoulder. “Three months ago I broke up with the girl I dated from university. We were together almost four years. I used to think I’d marry her.”

“What happened?”

“The job took over, opportunities presented themselves when I went out. I was a geek all through school. But that’s changed. It’s not about the Captain of the Lacrosse team or the rich royals. Women see money when they see me. I’m not afraid to treat a woman to a fancy dinner or charm her with champagne and flowers. Geek is now cool. Women want money and security. I can provide that, so the tortoise wins, leaving the hare in its wake.”

“What happened to the girl?”

He takes a few gulps from his glass and checks out some women walking by before looking at me. “What girl?”

“Your girlfriend from university.”

“Oh. Not sure,” he shrugs, “We’ve lost touch.”

Lost touch with reality seems more fitting in my opinion. The song changes and some of the dancers leave the floor and head to the bar. Two women approach and stand behind us. One waves at the bartender, but he doesn’t see her.

“Can I be of service?” Chip asks. “What would you ladies like to drink?”

They look to each other and smile before the brunette answers, “Two Chocolate Martinis.”

Chip lifts up and gets the bartender to come over. He places the order just as the blonde says, “Do you come here often?” Her accent is strong and more Cockney than refined Londoner. She’s pretty—straight hair, low-cut top, and really short skirt that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. She’s beautiful, but typical and unoriginal.

Bottom line is… s
he’s not Jules.

I reply, “No, I’m American.”

That intrigues her enough to lean closer. “Are you here on vacation or business?”

“Business,” I say, not wanting to go into the fact that it’s business that could have been done from Manhattan. She doesn’t need the dirty details of why I’m really here.

It doesn’t take much—three drinks and a few laughs and she’s pulling me into a cab with her friend and Chip. We end up at the brunette’s flat. I have no recollection of her name. The blonde is Keira and has her hand running up and down my inner thigh. My cock is a traitor, betraying my feelings for Jules.

Chip and the brunette are in the bedroom before the front door shuts. Keira takes her shoes off, complaining that the heels hurt. She’s much shorter than I thought, but still taller than Jules. She puts on a seductive smile and says, “Come here, Austin.”

I go, but I know I shouldn’t. She runs her fingers down my neck and over my shoulders. “Sit down,” she says. When I do, she hikes her skirt up the remaining few inches, exposing her pussy, and straddles me. “Touch me.” She places my hands on her ass and closes her eyes as she begins a slow gyrate.

The curse—it’s impossible to hide an erection. I toss her to the side of me onto the couch and stand up. I run my hand through my hair this time. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s not you,” I start to say as she pulls her skirt back down.

“I’m in love with someone else.”

She looks irritated. Folding her arms, she asks, “Then why did you come back with me?”

“I don’t know.” The truth.

She raises her voice. “I want you to leave.”

“I apologize.” With that, I leave the flat without saying anything more.

I grab a taxi and head back to my own flat. When I walk inside, I look at the bare walls. I was going to surprise Jules with this place. I bought it for the great wall space, the location, and spectacular windows. I wanted her to fill it with her favorite art and to help me decorate it. I never had a chance to show her though.

After tossing my keys on the table by the door, I go to the fridge. I down half a bottle of water before I lean against the counter wondering what the fuck I’m doing anymore. Everything was perfect and on the right track until Dylan derailed us.
Fucker
.

Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I flip through my photos from the last few months. It only takes seeing five of her to know I’m not over Jules. Not at all. Moving to the couch, I pick up my laptop and log on. It started off as a therapeutic way to get the words down, get them out. An hour later, I look at the letter I wrote to her and never sent, rereading it. I take a deep breath, then save it to my drafts folder again. I close the computer and lie there, wanting to fall asleep before I do something stupid like sending it to her or worse, calling her.

Tonight I’m lucky and fall asleep.

SHIT
. GRABBING MY
head, I’m groggy as I look around. I’m on the couch, my laptop on the coffee table in front of me. Memories from the night before come back in fragments—
Chip. The nightclub. Keira. Jules. The email.
Sitting up abruptly, I grab my computer, log on, and check my sent folder. Nothing was sent last night.
Thank God
. I breathe out in relief when I move to the drafts folder. It’s still waiting there, challenging me to send it, to end this madness. My rational side hits me full force when the memory of her kissing Dylan comes back.

Closing my computer down, I decide to get up and shower. I’m tense, stressed, and fucking lonely. I miss her and that pisses me off too. I take hold of my cock, needing to find relief under the warm water. It’s not the same like when I was with her, but it feels good to release some pressure, in any form. I should probably take up boxing.