Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,49
He’s smiling down at me. He seems to like me pretty well. It seems strange because so few men have been interested in me in the past, but he seems to be.
I’m trapped. Paralyzed. I have absolutely no idea what to do.
George is gazing down at me with a warm question in his eyes.
And Richard is over there by the car.
One little sliver of me wants to invite George upstairs with me, just so Richard sees me doing it. Just to prove to him that he doesn’t own me.
That’s not a part of myself I like to indulge though. Richard has been good to me—other than not offering me what I really want. And showing up here right now where he doesn’t belong and when I don’t know what to do with him.
I swallow hard and manage to say with a casual lightness that hopefully doesn’t shut down a possible second date with George. “I had an amazing time tonight.”
“Me too.” He seems to understand he’s not going up with me. He doesn’t look annoyed or more than an edge of disappointed. He’s still smiling. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“Definitely.”
He leans over and kisses me on the mouth. Gently. Briefly. Nothing intrusive or inappropriate for a public sidewalk. “Have a good night.”
“You too.” I rub his chest before I drop my hand. I really don’t want to blow my chances with him when Richard is nothing but drama and potential pain for me. “Talk to you later.”
I stand where I am in front of the exterior door of the building as he walks away. Once, he turns around and glances back, and I wave at him. He waves back before he turns a corner and disappears.
Facing the door, I take a deep breath. Square my shoulders. Try to mentally prepare myself.
Then I finally turn around and walk over to Richard.
He’s wearing tailored trousers and a gray Oxford, collar open, neatly tucked in. His expression is quiet. Unrevealing. If he’s angry about my not showing up in Vermont or if he’s jealous about what he just saw or if he doesn’t give a damn about me at all, I have no way of knowing. Not from his expression anyway.
When I reach him, I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
We stare at each other for a long time in silence. We’re surrounded by the sound of traffic. The blue of his eyes is very dark in the low evening light. The night air is brisk.
Finally, since he doesn’t appear to be about to speak, I manage a few words. “What are you doing here?”
He moistens his lips. His voice is more gravelly than normal as he says softly, “I waited in Vermont for you.”
“I know you did. But we had no commitments, and I made the choice not to go. No strings. No expectations. Isn’t that what you always said? I would have let you know, but you’ve never given me a way to get in touch with you. I need to do what’s best for me.”
For some reason the last sentence seems to have snapped whatever has been holding Richard’s feelings in check. His features twist briefly, and he reaches out to take my face in one hand, his palm warm and dry against my cheek. “I’m what’s best for you.” He glances over in the direction George left with a look that’s almost a snarl. “That guy, whoever he is, is not the man for you. I’m what’s best for you.”
My heart is jumping—leaping in my chest, over and over again—at the words and at the passionate possessiveness in the tone. It’s what I want to see and hear in him. No way to deny it. But at the same time, the words make me angry. I jerk away from his hand and snap, “Who the hell do you think you are? You think a few weekends together, as great as they were, entitles you to any weekend you want to take from me? You think I belong to you now, when you’ve never given me your phone number or your real last name?”
His scowl turns into a frown. “No, I don’t think you belong to—”
“How dare you just show up like this?” My voice is louder. Angrier. I’m fully processing the situation now and how unfair it is to me—even if seeing him here, like this, is exactly what I secretly wanted to happen. “You think you can keep a relationship solely on