Page 102 of The Plus One Professional

Now, it felt like Tyson had just landed a right to my balls. “You don’t think I’m right for you?”

“We’re not… compatible.”

“How so?”

“You’re more than a decade younger than me, which is not a bad thing because obviously you’re mature, but, still, there is that. You date women as a job?—”

“That’s temporary. I’m getting my contractor’s license, and then, hopefully, I’ll be able to phase that part out of my life within a year,” I argued.

“That’s great. I know you’re going to be really successful, but we’re in different places in our lives. You’re just starting out, and I’m ready to settle down. I’ve been single for a long time, and I want to be with someone. To have a family, whatever that looks like.”

As much as I wanted to argue with her that we could make this work, it wouldn’t be fair for her if I did. I knew I couldn’t give her everything she wanted at that moment. The commitment, the family, and everything she deserved. I had commitments and a family already.

I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to beg her to give me, to give us a chance. But I knew that wasn’t the right thing to do.

If that was how she felt about me, I had to respect her wishes. Her boundaries. Clearly, from looking around her apartment turned florist shop, other people in her life didn’t. I wasn’t going to be that guy.

Her phone rang, and she looked down and bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I’ve been waiting for this call. I have to take it.”

I nodded and set Whiskey down so I could go put my shoes on. I only found one sock, but I didn’t feel like taking the time to try to find the other. If this was really over, I thought it would be better to rip it off like a Band-Aid.

She was still on the phone when I grabbed my keys from the counter where I’d set them the night before. “Let me know if you want me to bid on your house.”

Her eyes widened, and she covered the receiver with her hand. “You would still do that?”

I’d do anything just to be near you.I thought to myself.My feelings were painfully clear to me; I had no idea how she couldn't see it.

“Yeah, it’s business.”

“Right.” She nodded. “Um, yeah. Billie has the information. I’ll have her email you.”

Before I left, I walked over and kissed her. I could hear the person on the phone talking as I slid my lips against hers, then pressed them softly once more as I whispered, “Goodbye, Bailey.”

Just before the door shut, I looked back and saw her lift her hand to her lips. She felt it, too. I know she did. It might not be everything, but it was something. A small glimmer of hope that she’d realize she was wrong about me being the wrong guy.

Or even if she still thought I was the wrong guy, maybe I could just be therightwrong guy for her.

43

BAILEY

“Meow. Meow. Meow.”Lady Whiskerdown sat in front of me, loudly lodging her grievances. “Meow. Meow. Meow.”

“I know. I miss him, too,” I commiserated with Whiskey.

Since, technically, I didn’t speak cat, I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure what displeasure she was vocalizing to me and had been for the past ten days. She could be harmonizing with Frankie Valli since “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” was playing on repeat through my Echo speaker. But I doubted that was the case. Using context clues, I’d come up with an educated hypothesis.

First, her complaints began immediately after Cole left the apartment last Sunday morning.

Second, she’d found his sock and adopted it as her own. She carried it from room to room, wouldn’t let it out of her sight, slept with it, and purred as she rubbed her head against it.

Third, for the past ten days, she’d only slept on the pillow Cole had slept on and in the corner of the couch, where he’d sat after I’d passed out on him.

Conclusion: I wasn’t the only female in love with Cole Crawford in this residence.

Whiskey continued to tell me how unhappy she was as I sat on the couch with my computer on my lap, trying to catch up on work. Whiskey wasn’t the only one who was out of sorts; I hadn’t been doing too well since I’d told Cole that we needed to talk.

For the past week and a half, my thoughts had been consumed by the man, whom I had told, wasn’t right for me, and who kissed me sweetly before he left. I fell asleep thinking about him. I dreamt about him. He was the first thing that came to my mind when I woke up. He stayed in my thoughts every second of every day. I couldn’t escape him. I’d replayed the conversation we’d had at the breakfast table hundreds of times. I’d thought I was doing the right thing, the responsible thing, but with each day that passed, the conviction I’d had waned.

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