Page 27 of It Must Be Love

"Speaking of past, you heard from Jackson? He's visiting from Paris for the holidays."

Jackson was another friend of ours from MIT who now lived in Paris and was the CEO of a solar power company. His wife was French, and he was one of the few people I knew who was happily married.

"Yeah. You coming for his lunch at The Langham?"

"Eh probably," Hayes said noncommittally. He always kept his plans loose because he was likely to change his mind at the last minute. Hayes was one of the few people I knew who when it came to his personal life didn't let society dictate anything. He only did what he felt like in the moment and didn't care what anyone thought. I sometimes wished I was more like him.

My phone beeped, and I sighed when I saw the message from Ann: When are you home? I'm waiting.

So much for doing my thing.

"I gotta go."

"You look like a man being led to prison," Hayes mocked.

"I love Ann, Hayes."

"You sure about that?" Hayes leaned back on his chair. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "I think it's easy with Ann. I don't think you love her. I don't think you even like her."

"Don't tell me how I feel."

I pulled out my wallet and Hayes shook his head. "I got this. I'm going to get another drink before I head home."

Hayes didn't believe in relationships, not like I did. He dated, sure, but discreetly and had never been in a relationship that lasted more than six months. He was a good-looking black man, smart as hell, and a charming mother-fucker, so it wasn't like he lacked opportunity. He just wasn't interested. He liked his life, he always said, and didn't want to explain himself to anyone. Right now, I wished I was single too because I didn't want to go to my place where Ann was waiting.

Since Thanksgiving, she was in my apartment often. I knew it was her way to show me the inevitability of her moving in. I was desperate for a few nights on my own. I'd tried to tell her, and she'd first ignored me and then cried. Ann was a crier and used her tears to manipulate me, most of the time successfully. She told me she’d been hurt that I didn't want to spend time with her.

The sleet was coming down hard and I hoped Naya made it safely to her place.

I texted her: I hope you got home before the weather got too bad.

Her reply came five minutes later: Yes, thank you.

That was that. But I apparently wanted to continue the conversion for some perverse reason: I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable at work.

Naya: When?

Me: When I touched you?

It took her longer to reply this time: Think nothing of it. Have a good evening.

She was shutting me down, and I wasn't going to let her.

Me: It didn't make you uncomfortable?

Naya: It was fine.

Me: You won't mind if I do it again?

I was almost home when ten minutes later she replied: I don't know. Goodnight.

Just reading her message made me hard. What the fuck was wrong with me? I had an-almost fiancée, and I was lusting after my friend's mousy sister, one who used to have a crush on me…maybe still did. I shouldn't encourage her. I'd end up hurting her.

"But you want her, don't you?" mocked the stupid voice in my head belonging to the asshole with the horns.

"I'm almost engaged," countered the smarter voice in my head, the voice of reason, the one with a fucking halo.

"What's that got to do with your dick?" commented horny asshole.

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