I know I have no choice. I can’t put him through more heartache.
“You okay?” he asks as he pulls me closer, nuzzling in.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I don’t know what else to say. Plus, there’s a part of me that wants it to be true, a part of me that wishes I was okay with all of this. Because this is definitely a case of it isn’t him, it’s me.
No matter how much I want to paint him with the asshole card because of our first meeting, the truth is, he’s a good guy. A very good guy. One who helps out his neighbors, serves in the community, rescues stray dogs, and gives divorcées who are in over their heads really good legal advice and representation.
And me? I’m a woman who still needs to work on her shit. I’ve gotten a lot of it together since I first told Karl I wanted a divorce, but there is more than a little left to go. And until I get that shit figured out, there’s no way I’ll be able to give Nick what he deserves…and what he apparently wants, as well.
Eventually, his breathing softens out a little bit, becomes more rhythmic, and the arm around me grows heavier and more lax. And still I wait a couple more minutes before rolling gently—oh so gently—away.
His arm flops on the bed between us and he startles a little—which also startles me. My heart begins beating even faster and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to freak out and just run. But since I’m pretty sure that will just make Nick chase me, I stay where I am, facedown on the bed, and hyperventilate pillow fuzz for a while.
When nearly ten minutes go by and he doesn’t so much as move, I finally decide it’s safe to start inching toward the edge of the bed. As my fingers and toes eventually touch nothing but air on my side of the bed, I just go for it.
I roll straight out of bed and land on the floor with an oompf that knocks the air out of me—and settles out my hyperventilating at the same time. Nothing like a few bruises for the win.
I think about trying to get my clothes, but they’re still in the bathroom and there’s no way Nick will sleep through all that. And if he doesn’t, what am I going to say? I have a crawling fetish? I’m sleep-crawling? No, nothing good can come from that, so it’s going to have to be every pair of lace underwear for herself in this situation. Besides, I never liked that suit anyway.
Inch by inch, I stealth-crawl to the door, feeling more and more like a special-ops soldier moving through enemy territory. The bedroom door is open, thank God, and I’m out and in the hallway when I hit my second booby trap. Buttercup.
She must be a night dog, because suddenly she’s right next to me—and she’s wide awake. Also, apparently, feeling the love tonight.
I get a face full of enthusiastic doggie kisses and end up having to take every single one of them, since she’s determined not to be dissuaded. Eventually, she eases up a little and I take my shot, power-crawling to the stairs as fast as my hands and knees will carry me.
Yes, I am aware that I am a thirty-five-year-old woman who is sneaking out of her lover’s bedroom because she got cold feet.
Yes, I am more than aware of how pathetic that is.
No, I really don’t give a damn about my pathetic quotient right now. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about anything but getting out of here before Nick wakes up and decides we need to talk.
I have to put up with Buttercup’s kissing and dancing around me all the way to the top of the stairs. Once there, I jump to my feet before bolting down the steps two at a time. I’m so freaked out at this point that I almost make it to the front door before I remember that I’m naked. And while it’s late, it isn’t middle-of-the-night late, and somehow I bet my neighbors will freak out if it comes to light that I was streaking through the neighborhood at midnight.
Their loss, but still.
A quick search of the living room yields one of Nick’s shirts—and my phone, thankfully—and I shrug it on before racing for the door. I button two buttons, which is more than enough for decency in my book—though