stool by his kitchen island, catching up on some work on his laptop. When I trudged in and yanked my desired Armani dress from the closet, he raised his eyes from the laptop coldly. I expected him to stop me and have his way with me before I made my way out of the apartment, but all he did was salute me with a touch of his fingers to his forehead, bidding me goodbye.
I stopped by the door, confused.
“Aren’t you going to try to sleep with me?”
The subtext was obvious: I am going to sleep with you, but I’m not going to move in with you. I will not commit to you. I will not give you more than I am ready to give.
Sam kept his eyes on the screen.
“Do you want me to try to sleep with you?”
“No.” Yes.
He smirked, his eyes still on the screen. “Seems like we don’t have a problem, then.”
“That’s a change I didn’t see coming.”
For some reason, my feet were glued to his floor. I couldn’t leave without figuring out what had changed.
Had he finally given up on us? Maybe he decided I was simply not worth the effort. I wanted to punch my own face for putting him through so much. But then again, I didn’t regret any of it. He deserved to repent for what he’d done to my family, and I wasn’t sure he was done paying.
“Maybe I decided to save myself for marriage,” he murmured, taking a sip from the glass of brandy sitting next to him.
Staring at him dumbly, I shifted the dress on the hanger from one shoulder to the other.
“Usually you do that before sleeping with enough people to break a Guinness World Record,” I pointed out.
He finally lifted his eyes from the screen.
“Well, I’m an unorthodox guy. Better late than never.”
“I guess this is where our journey ends, then.” I put on a brave face, forcing myself to smile. Internally, I was shouting, “Merde, merde, merde” to the moon.
He was dumping me. I knew I was making things hard for him, but Sam never showed any signs of looking tired or distressed. If anything, he took our new game in a stride and always had that dangerous, mischievous glint in his eyes of a man entertained by having to work for it for a change.
“Guess so.” He took another sip of his drink, his eyes never wavering from mine. “Unless we get married.”
I threw my head back and laughed hysterically.
Get married. Us. Good one.
“Never gonna happen,” I provided.
“Unlikely,” he agreed. “You can still suck my cock every now and again, but sex is off the table.”
“That’s something I can live with,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “And thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”
He’d nodded.
“Have a great night at the Fishers’ charity ball.”
“How do you know that’s where I’m going?”
“I know everything about you, Nix, including where you take your lunches at work—the little backyard on a white bench—and what you eat—hope you enjoyed your oatmeal bar today.”
I didn’t dance with anyone at the charity ball.
I was nailed to my seat, punished, thinking about one thing—marriage.
After that night, Sam did seek me out again and we never went all the way anymore. Never clawed at each other’s clothes or had wild sex.
He showed up in places I went to but only enjoyed heavy petting and kissing. Every time I tried to stir him into full-blown sex territory, he would clap his hand over my wrist and say, “You can’t sample the goods anymore, Nix. You break it, you pay for it. Move in with me.”
“No.”
It went on and on and on, week in and week out, to a point where I wasn’t sure if I was not done hating him for what he’d done or if I was just enjoying the chase too much. It was entirely possible I lost myself somewhere in our game, and I didn’t know how to find my way back to what we were.
The truth was, I did want to move in with him.
I wanted to move in with him very badly.
Not because taking care of Mother was daunting—on the contrary, she had actually been quite okay, everything considered—but because I missed him terribly every time we were apart.
I was just afraid he was going to break my heart again, and this time, I knew I wouldn’t be able to mend it back to health.
Right now, we were in the twilight zone. On the edge of something deep