The One That I Want(6)
Paul looked sad and defeated—he actually looked like he didn’t want to go. He must be a good actor because his expression was so forlorn, I almost believed him.
I held up my hand, stopping any words he was about to say.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess. That was your boss and something super urgent has come up at...” I looked at the clock. “... twelve-thirty on a Sunday morning. No one else can deal with it, it has to be you, and you have to leave, right now.” I leaned against the counter, folding my arms across my chest. My disappointment turned to anger. I wasn’t angry at Paul—he’d played his part well after all. I was angry at myself, for allowing the tiny bit of hope that he was different from the others.
“Jase, don’t be like that, you know how much I want to be here. I wanted to wake up with you and treat you to breakfast, maybe go somewhere, explore the city. I wanted to spend the day with you.” The sadness in his eyes only made me madder. I wasn’t falling for it. “Babe, I’m sorry. I have to go away for work, I have a six o’clock flight, and I need to go home and pack. I’ll be out of the office all week, but I’ll call you, okay? I promise. And I’ll get tickets to something playing on Saturday night.”
Paul stepped toward me, a half smile on his luscious lips as he wrapped his arms around me. My body betraying me, I melted against him, resting my head against his chest. I breathed him in, committing his smell to memory.
Kissing the top of my head, he let go and headed toward the door.
“I’ll call, I promise,” he said just before he walked out.
LIKE AN idiot, I looked for Paul every morning, and every time I didn’t see him my chest ached. I switched my phone off and kept it off all week, I didn’t want to hear it not ring. I was tempted to turn it on but knew I’d be adding to my disappointment when there were no messages.
I ate lunch alone on Wednesday at our usual café, and then kicked myself for acting like a sentimental idiot. He wasn’t going to magically appear. I didn’t know why but this time felt different. I always had the disappointment when a guy didn’t call, but for some reason this felt like more than just an expected letdown. This was heartbreak. Paul had crawled under my skin and made it his home, like a hibernating, heartbreaking parasite.
My work couldn’t keep my mind off him. Granted, I was an accountant and just saying that word sometimes put people to sleep, but I enjoyed my work. Numbers were absolute. You could rely on them.
The week dragged by, but Friday finally came. And with its arrival came the knowledge I’d be spending Saturday night alone. Maybe I could call Brian. He had become my best friend since I arrived in the city and would occasionally come with me to a show, but musicals weren’t really his thing. Sometimes I thought he came with me because he felt sorry for me when I went by myself. I squashed the idea of calling him—he’d recently moved in with his boyfriend so he’d be doing couple things.
Maybe I’d give Dave a bath. That was always fun, and bloody.
I looked at the people milling around the elevator but of course there was no familiar tall, dark and looks-fantastic-in-a-suit. My heart somewhere in my big toe, I made my way to the stairs.
As soon as the door shut behind me, I was pinned against it and familiar lips were pressing against mine, demanding entry. I heard the thud of Paul’s briefcase as it hit the floor, and a second later his arms were around me, dragging my body against his, our cocks rubbing against each other through our pants.
I thought I must be dreaming. I opened for him, letting him explore my mouth as I grabbed his ass and rutted my hips against his, ratcheting our lust higher.
“Turn your... f*cking... phone on,” Paul growled between kisses, sucks, and licks.
“I didn’t expect you to call.” My breath came in sharp rasps as he assaulted my throat.
“I know you didn’t, that’s why I called and texted you every goddamn day. I finished up as soon as I could so I could come home and see you. You will be having lunch with me today, twelve-thirty. Don’t be late.” Those final words said, he grabbed his briefcase from the floor, kissed me deeply and took off up the stairs, two at a time, leaving me to pick my jaw up off the floor.
I watched the clock but the morning seemed to take all week. Did I imagine him in the stairwell? The raw burn on my cheeks from his unshaven face told me no, but my Paul was always clean shaven; surely I wouldn’t dream him with stubble? But if I didn’t dream him, why didn’t he shave before he came to work?
Twelve-thirty finally came and I made my way across the street. Paul was there at our usual table. He’d already ordered a BLT for me, and I smiled when I saw him, but he remained stony-faced with his arms folded across his chest as he watched me push through the crowd. My smile faded and my stomach clenched.
“Want to tell me what that was all about?” Yep, angry all right.
“Umm, not really,” I said as I sat down. “Thanks for ordering.” I looked at my sandwich, not wanting to see the anger in his eyes directed at me.
“I told you I would call and I did, every single night, and sometimes during the day when I could. Why didn’t you believe me?”
Returned hurt flared in my stomach.
“Because no one ever does. They always say they’ll call but they don’t. I hoped you were different.” I sighed. “I can see now that you are, but at the time all I could think about was that you were another guy running the other way.”