Man Candy (26 page)

Routine. Too fast.”

“But doesn’t that always happen

over time?” I asked. “I mean, you can’t

expect that initial spark to last for years,

can you?” Although, to be honest, I

couldn’t imagine the spark between

Quinn and me dying out. What the hell?

“Sure, you can,” Claire argued. “I’ve

seen plenty of couples who have great

sexual chemistry and have been together

for years. Look at my parents! It’s

embarrassing how much they touch each

other all the time!”

“And it’s not like I expect fireworks

every time,” Margot said. “I’d settle for

an orgasm once a month, even.”

I gaped at her. “Once a
month
?

Remind me why you want to marry this

guy.”

“Because we’re right for each other!

And I don’t understand what went

wrong,” she said, setting her glass down

and dropping her head into her hands. “A

few months ago everything was fine and

we wanted the same things. Then

suddenly he’s changed his mind and

we’re going nowhere.”

“Does he want to break up?” Claire

asked.

“No, but I do. I told him I’m not

going to wait around in a relationship

that’s a dead end, and he said I was

being childish and unreasonable.” She

wiped her nose on the back of her hand

before reaching for another tissue.

“Asshole,” I hissed. “What did you

say to that?”

“I said ‘Go fuck yourself.’”

That made me grin a mile wide.

“But am I making a mistake?”

Margot asked desperately. “I mean, I

don’t need a ring tomorrow, but I at least

liked knowing we were building toward

something. It made me feel happy and

secure in the future. Now everything’s

just fucked!” She started weeping again.

I scooted closer and rubbed her

back. “You did the right thing, Margot. A

woman like you does
not
need to wait

around for
any
man, least of all a dipshit like Tripp.”

“I just kept thinking, if I don’t do it

now, he’s just going to dump me later,

once he’s tired of me,” she sobbed.

“And I couldn’t bear the thought that

he’d be the one to call it off, and I’d

look like the biggest fool on the planet,

waiting around all these years for a

proposal that never came.”

“No one would ever say that,”

Claire said loyally.

“Yes, they would,” Margot insisted.

“You don’t know how people talk in

those circles. They’re so nice to your

face and so vicious behind your back. I

bet they’re already talking about me.”

“Listen, posh people don’t have a

monopoly on shitty gossip,” I told her.

“They just do it more quietly in more

expensive rooms. And everything is
not

fucked! The way I see it, your future is

wide open now.”

“I agree,” said Claire. “And if love

and marriage is what you want, you’ll

find it. I know you will.”

“Or
fuck
love and marriage!” I said.

“Get out there and do things you’ve

always wanted to do! Take a trip, get a

new job, change things up! Maybe this is

a wake-up call.”

She sniffed, looking at me with puffy

eyes. “Maybe. Fucking hurts, though.”

My heart squeezed as she dissolved

into tears again. “I know. I’m sorry.”

I CALLED Quinn on the way home, who

said he’d waited for me, and dinner

would be ready when I got there. I

apologized for being late, but he said

apologies weren’t necessary, a friend in

need was more important than spaghetti,

and besides, this gave him something to

punish me for later.

God, he was so fucking perfect.

It was terrifying…what was I
doing
?

Seeing Margot come apart at the

seams like that was making me wonder

if I had any fucking clue. The last two

weeks had been so intense—I hardly

recognized myself. I wanted to be with

Quinn almost all the time. I thought about

him constantly. A few times, I even

caught myself about to say
I love you
,

before memory and common sense

kicked in and reminded me what

happened the last time I did that.

This was fucked up.

I didn’t believe in love like that, did

I? But then what was that feeling that

stopped my heart and stole my breath,

made me break all my rules and drop my

defenses? That made me want to share

things with him I’d never even thought

about sharing with anyone else? What

was that longing for him when we were

apart? What was that flutter in my

stomach when I saw him again? What

was that tingle in my skin, that rush to the

head, that certainty in my bones that

when I was with him, nothing else

mattered?

This couldn’t happen.

It couldn’t be me.

But when I walked into his flat and

saw him in the kitchen putting together

our dinner…when he looked over at me

and his eyes lit up…when he stopped

what he was doing and came over to kiss

me…I knew I was drowning.

A sweat broke out on my back, and

the room spun. My stomach churned and

my head throbbed, my mouth was dry

and my legs were weak.

This is why they call it lovesick.

I couldn’t even breathe.

After he kissed me hello, he started

talking about something, and his voice

seemed to come at me from the end of a

long tunnel. I heard sounds but not

words. My body felt heavy, as if the

force of gravity had just increased

exponentially, and I braced a hand on the

counter because I was afraid I wasn’t

strong enough to hold myself up.

I was in love with him.

I was in
love
with him.

How had I let this happen?

I had to fix this.

Now.

Good thing I had an emergency exit

strategy all planned out. I always had.

I COULDN’T EVEN TASTE the food.

I could barely get it on my fork. I think I

made conversation, but in the back of my

mind I kept seeing Margot on the floor,

hearing her pitiful sobs. I had to protect

myself from that…I had to stick to what I

knew was right for me, and that meant

doing what I always said I’d do if I fell

for someone.

It meant stepping back from Quinn.

But you’ll miss him!
screamed a

voice in my head.
You’ll miss the sex,

you’ll miss his jokes, you’ll miss his

voice, his face, his kindness. You’ll miss

his teasing and cooking and maybe

even the cuddling. You’ll miss the way

he makes you feel.

No, I won’t
, I argued back. I might

miss all those other things, but right now

all I feel is terror.
I’m sorry that I have

to sacrifice all those other things to

feel safe again, but I do.

So when he mentioned that he’d

booked movers for Tuesday, I saw the

opening and took it.

“Oh, good,” I said, shocking even

myself with how calm I sounded.
Yes.

Stay cool. Make a joke.
“About time you

got out of here.”

He grinned. “I knew you’d be glad to

get rid of me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say
that
.” I picked

up my wine glass and hoped he didn’t

notice the way it trembled. “This has

been really fun.”

A quizzical look passed over his

face. “Yeah. It has.” A beat went by.

“Isn’t it still?”

I took a huge gulp of wine. “I guess

so. I mean, with you moving out, it’ll be

harder to see each other.”

“Uh huh…” His mind was working

overtime, I could see it.

I dropped my eyes to my plate and

pushed some pasta around. “And I’ve

got a lot of big projects coming up at

work.”

“Really.” He set his fork on the plate

with a clink.

“Mmhm.”
Oh God, oh God, don’t

look up.
I took a shaky breath. “So it’s probably a good time to take a breather

from all this anyway.”

“All this what?”

I shrugged, feeling like I was

stepping out onto the frozen lake, unsure

how thin the ice was. One wrong step

and I’d go under. “All this…time

together. I won’t have it anymore. And

since you’re moving out, it seems like

the right decision.”

“You’re not making sense, Jaime.”

There was an edge to his tone. “What

decision?”

Don’t back down. This is the right

thing.
“To take a step back. Cool off. We were getting too serious anyway. And

I’m not…good at that. I don’t want it. So

I think we should, you know, go back to

what we said this was going to be.

Friends that hang out every once in a

while for fun.”

Whew.

There. Got it out.

He said nothing, and I was dying to

know what his expression was. Angry?

Hurt? Shocked? What felt like a lifetime

passed in uncomfortable silence. Finally,

I couldn’t resist looking up.

He was sitting back in the chair,

arms crossed. And his face said
I know

exactly what you’re fucking doing.

My first reaction was to bristle a

little, even though he hadn’t said a word.

Did he think I was bluffing? That I’d

back down? Well, I wouldn’t! This

wasn’t a fucking game of chicken, this

was
real
and it was my
heart
and my
life
and I couldn’t give it away in the

blind hope that things would work out. It

was too scary, too unpredictable, too

unbelievable. I didn’t want to be

dependent on anyone for anything! I was

fine on my own! How dare he come into

my life and turn it upside down this way!

And why was he sitting there all silent

and smoldering!? Didn’t he fucking
care

that I was trying to break things off? He

should care, because I was serious!

“Say something!” I finally blurted.

I swear to God, that fucker almost

smiled.

“OK, Jaime. If that’s what you

want.”

My jaw dropped. “Is that what you

want?”

“No.”

“Well…that’s what I want.” Fuck.

Fuck!
It’s what I wanted, wasn't it? Why was his reaction throwing me off?

Dammit, this was
just
like him!

“So you said.” He stood up and

carried his half-full plate into the

kitchen. A few seconds later, I heard the

faucet running and the sounds of dishes

being rinsed and placed in the

dishwasher.

I sat there at the table, feeling small

and stubborn and angry and sad. Of all

the reactions I’d thought he’d have,

complaisance wasn’t one of them. Was

this some kind of trick? Reverse

psychology? Did he think I’d change my

mind and beg to take back my words?

Well, I wouldn’t. Pouting, I crossed my

arms over my chest.

Then another thought occurred to me.

What if he really didn’t care? What

if he wasn’t in love with me? What if I’d

imagined all the deep, intense feelings

between us?
Maybe I was just a game

to him after all.

The cynic in my head spoke up, the

one that continued to shame me for

breaking the rules and letting him in, the

one that forced me to sleep in my own

bed some nights.
You see? This

validates everything. Of course you’re

a game! For fuck’s sake,
love
is a game

—and no one plays fair. The only way

to win it is to get off the board.

I believed the voice. But a tiny part

of me wanted Quinn to fight back, to tell

me I was wrong, to insist what we had

was real and too good to throw away.

Why wasn’t he doing it?

He came into the dining room and

reached for my plate. “Are you done?”

“Yes.”

After he took it into the kitchen, I

downed the last of my wine and

followed him in. “So that’s it, really?

That’s all you have to say?”

He didn’t look at me, just kept

loading the dishes. “What do you want

me to say?”

That you love me, dammit.

Although, if he did…what would that

change? Wouldn’t that just make it

worse? The problem here wasn’t that we

didn’t feel the same about each other; it

was that we
did
. And I couldn’t handle

it, so I’d just fucked everything up.

It was my last line of defense.

“Nothing,” I snapped, irrationally

angry with him for letting me walk out

without a fight and furious with myself

for being the kind of person who’d

rather be alone than scared. Setting my

empty wine glass on the counter with a

clunk. “Nothing at all.”

Fighting tears, I stormed out of his

apartment, raced up to mine, and threw

myself onto my bed, where I cried so

hard I didn’t even make a sound.