The Wrong Right Man(12)

I text back as quickly as I can with my hands shaking.



Me: Are you sure?



Mags: AM I SURE? YEAH, I’M SURE. HE WAS WAITING FOR YOU AND YOU NEVER SHOWED UP, SO HE CAME TO THE CLUB.



“Oh my God,” I whisper, feeling sick.

I couldn’t be wrong about the man I willingly gave myself to last night, could I? What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t really ask questions. I let him lead the way, charmed by his good looks and dominance. My throat gets tight as anger fills me from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair.

Without thinking, I grab the knob and pull the door open. I storm past my bed toward my kitchen, willing my feet to hold steady as I move with purpose toward the man watching me.

“Morning, beautiful.”

My throat gets tight remembering how I got off to him calling me that last night.

“Who are you?” I ask, shoving my hand against his shoulder with enough force that the cup filled with coffee he’s holding sloshes out over his hand and onto the floor.

“What?” His confused expression angers me more.

“Who are you? I know you’re not the guy I was supposed to meet!” I yell, and I see it then, a look I witnessed from him numerous times last night but didn’t dissect. A look of anxiousness, maybe even fear of being found out. God, how stupid am I?

“Dakota—” He takes a step in my direction, and I hold up my hand palm out, not trusting myself to handle the pull I feel when it comes to him.

“Just tell me the truth.” My hands ball into fists at my sides, and he sets the cup on the counter then leans back against it like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“The moment I saw you, I wanted you.”

My eyes narrow on his. “The moment you saw me, you wanted me, so you pretended to be someone you’re not?”

“Yeah.”

Yeah? Just yeah?

“I can’t believe this.” I rub my hands down my face, wondering how I ended up in this situation.

“Baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, dropping my hands away to glare at him. “I don’t even know you.”

“You know me,” he counters, glancing at the bed before looking me in the eye. “We definitely know each other.”

“I thought I knew you.” I shake my head in an attempt to keep the disappointment I’m feeling from showing. “All I know now is you’re a liar and I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Oh yeah, I am. I should have—” I wave my hand out, cutting myself off before I can tell him that I should have known he was too good to be true. “You need to leave.”

“We should talk.” He takes another step toward me, and I back up before he can touch me, catching pain flash through his eyes. But I tell myself it’s just my imagination. “Dakota—”

“Please.” My eyes slide closed. “Please just leave.” I know I sound desperate. I feel desperate for this to be over, for him to be gone so I can forget last night, forget what I thought I felt and what we shared.

“If I leave now, I want you to understand this isn’t over.” There’s no ignoring the threat in his statement. I focus on him, really focus on him, noticing his demeanor may seem relaxed, but his muscles are bunched like he’s just waiting for the right moment to strike. “We’re not over.”

“There is no we. I don’t even know who you are.”

“You will.”

I swallow then take a step back when he walks past me toward the raised area where my bed is.

I watch him grab his slacks and pull them on before picking up his shirt off the back of the chair in the corner and shrugging it on. I wrap my arms around my waist as he sits to put on his shoes, and then I hold my breath once he’s done and stands. I wonder if I’m making a mistake as he walks toward me but remind myself that he lied, not once but numerous times. He could have come clean at any point last night, but he never did.

“Tomorrow I leave to head out of town for a few days,” he states, and my stomach drops at that news. “When I get back, we’ll talk.”

“We won’t.” I hate the way my voice shakes.

He closes the distance between us then reaches out to touch me, but I move my head to the side before he can cup my cheek. His jaw twitches as his hand forms a fist as it drops to his side. “I’ll see you soon.”

I don’t respond. I don’t know how to. He stares at me for what seems like a lifetime before he finally turns to leave, and it isn’t until the door closes behind him that I’m finally able to take a breath.

I take two steps, drop my elbows to the kitchen counter, and rest my face in my hands. I want to cry, not because I’m sad, but because I’m so mad at myself. I should have…. I don’t know what I should have done, but I should have known Braxton wasn’t who he claimed to be. I should have read between the lines and trusted my gut.

The moment I saw you, I wanted you.

Who says something like that? What kind of man even thinks something like that, let alone acts on it? Probably the same kind of man who wears a suit like second skin, drives a G-class Benz, and has a standing reservation at a place like Altura.

My phone ringing from the bathroom pulls me from my thoughts, and I suck in a breath before I push away from the counter. By the time I reach my cell, it’s no longer ringing, but there’s a missed call from Jamie on the screen. I don’t want to call him back. I’m sure he’s talked to Maggie and is wondering what the hell happened to me, but knowing he’s worried forces me to dial his number.