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.
“Dakota, what the fuck,” he says in greeting, and I close my eyes.
“What the fuck what?” I ask, trying not to let him hear in my tone everything I’m feeling.
“I talked to Maggie. She told me you stood up your date, and then I haven’t been able to get a hold of you. I was two minutes away from calling the cops, since the fucking people at your building wouldn’t let me up to check on you.”
Damn, I’m glad I didn’t give him a key. “There’s no need to come check on me. I’m fine. I just...” God, I hate lying to him. “I just couldn’t go through with meeting the guy she wanted me to… so I stood him up and….”
“You don’t need to explain that to me. I was just worried about you,” he says quietly then asks, “Are you home?”
“Yeah.” I look around my bathroom, noting the sheet from my bed on the floor. I pick it up and take it with me to my bed, and with my phone in one hand, I rip the fitted sheet from the mattress and take it to the washer