Page 35 of Love Wasted

“Happy New Year! I love you, like whoa! Always will!” Click. She hangs up without another word. Shaking my head, I laugh out loud at her. I can never stay annoyed with her for long, and as for the Richard thing, I know she’s right.

I lie back again, staring up at the ceiling.

Richard didn’t stay last night. It’s been more than a month since I’ve let him do more than kiss me. Last night, he finally brought it up, and we argued—again—then he left, saying he didn’t understand but would respect my wishes. I convinced him I wasn’t feeling well and had had too much champagne, and I almost convinced myself of the same thing. I haven’t truly acknowledged that it’s been since the moment I looked up from my birthday candles into the eyes of a ghost from my past.

Now that ghost is sleeping in a room across this small apartment from mine.

I need to talk to Paxton, set some boundaries, because my heart is beginning to forget that we don’t want to let Paxton Luke in; it’s the key to our survival. I also need to figure out what he was thinking last night.

Throwing the covers back, I slowly move off the bed, my head spinning a little. Damn the bubbly…or maybe it was the tequila. Both are so good going down, but so brutal the next day. Walking into the bathroom, I open a drawer, pull out some pain reliever, and then switch on the water. I cup my hand, place the pill on my tongue, and drink a bit of water to help it slide down and start working its magic.

Surprisingly, I get dressed fairly quickly and decide coffee is necessary to continue life.

Walking out into the living room, I find Paxton looking out the window, phone to his ear. I stand, watching him. He hasn’t seen me yet because his back is to me. He doesn’t have a shirt on, and I can see every edge of muscle across his torso and over his shoulders. His jeans are hanging low on his hips and he looks relaxed. He’s beautiful in the morning light.

Suddenly, as if he can sense someone watching him, he swivels around.

Our eyes meet, a small moment passes between us, and then a shadow falls over his gaze—one that’s impenetrable, one I don’t think I’ve ever seen—but he smiles anyway. I don’t like it because it’s forced. I recognize it because I’ve used the same smile against him in the past.

He points at the phone, waves, and then turns back around.

I watch him a moment longer than head into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee.

When I walk back into the living room, Paxton isn’t anywhere to be seen, and his door is closed.

I need to talk to him, so I take a seat on the couch, facing his door, and wait. I finish two cups of coffee and still no Paxton. I know he’s still here because I can hear him moving around his room. Resigning myself to the fact that he’s not coming back out any time soon, I go get ready to meet a couple of my girlfriends for an early dinner.

Hoping he would’ve made a reappearance by now, I look around the apartment for any sign of Paxton; he must have snuck out while I was in my room.

I leave with an uneasy feeling. Something has shifted between us again, and it’s a shift we may not be able to come back from this time.

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