Page 31 of Worth the Risk

Every second of that video is burned into my memory. I’m certain that even in death it will be the last thing my mind replays.

“Are you avoiding me?”

Are you kidding me?I wanted to answer back.

My headthunksheavily against the elevator wall behind me, my eyes squeezing shut tightly as if it will scrub the images from my mind. But I know it’s no use because struggling with inappropriate thoughts about Austin Blake is nothing new forme. The only difference now, I know for a fact that my fantasies could never come close to a night with him.

“Have a good weekend, Miss Harrington.”

“Have a good weekend, Bernie.”

I wave to our security guard in the lobby before making my way out into the late afternoon Chicago sun. My eyes still squint behind my sunglasses as I start to walk down the block. I have two hours yet before I’m supposed to meet Becca at DaVino’s but the thought of being trapped in my office with Austin, his cologne permeating the room, his eyes roaming over me suspiciously as I nervously try to play it cool, sounded like a nightmare.

A deliciously tempting nightmare that I know I wouldn’t have survived. I decided I would have lasted all but a minute before I was climbing into his lap, begging him to take me and completely destroying any hope at us moving on from that kiss.

There’s an uncomfortable stickiness to my body after walking the dozen or so city blocks to my building. Considering the time I still need to kill before meeting Becca, I decide a long shower is a full necessity.

Music pumps through the small hanging speaker in the corner of my shower, my attempt to distract myself from the constant loop of Austin playing through my head while also psyching myself up for tonight.

“Any man of miiiiiine,” I sing along to Shania Twain, my eyes closed as I work the shampoo into a lather through my hair. I miss when I enjoyed getting ready to go out. I loved all of it. Styling my long hair, picking out the outfit, finding the perfect perfume while Noah snuck glances of me and a kiss or two. But all of that went away about two years into our relationship.

He blamed me because I was too focused on the firm and I blamed him because he was never around when I did have some downtime.

"I just don’t understand why you’re upset with me for working as much as I am but I’m only working this much because you’re never around. So what else am I supposed to do?”

“Oh really, Taylor? Really?”

I hate when he gets like this. The tone and volume of his voice is one thing, but the condescension instantly puts me on the defense.

“How would you even know if I’m not home when you’re still at the office at eight on a Friday night? Is it him, is that why you’re staying late?”

I pinch my brows together, the amount of times we’ve had this conversation starting to wear on me. “Because I wasn’t always at the office that late, Noah, and you know that. I only started working late because you were never home and when you were, you were so buried in your phone it was like I didn’t exist.”

“And Austin?” His jaw ticks when he spits his name at me.

“I’m not even going to dignify that question with a response.”

“So, because I was forced to work late by my boss, you decide you’re going to start working late just to get back at me?”

I bite my tongue, the urge to scream at the top of my lungs that this isn’t just some petty response or cry for attention about to hit a breaking point. I’m building a billion-dollar company, not staying late to piss off my emotionally immature boyfriend. But I know it’s no use. When he gets like this, filled with jealousy, I already know where the conversation is going so I stop it, hoping to offer a solution that will finally put this all to rest.

“No, no, you’re right, I have been working too much.” I relax my brow, a smile settling over my face as I reach for one of his hands. “Why don’t we go away for a few days?”

“Go away for a few days?” He pulls his hand back. “Are you kidding me right now, Taylor? It’s end of month and end of quarter for me. I’m the sales director. I can’t just take time off right now. That’d be like pulling Tom Brady with two minutes left in the game.”

And once again, we’re back at a stalemate. Because even if I offer another time or another weekend or another month… I already know there will be another excuse then as well.

Somewhere along the way, instead of trying to resolve the issue itself, we let it build into resentment. Or so I’m starting to realize during my postmortem of our relationship on sleepless nights and long moments alone with my thoughts.

At the time, it felt like I was fighting for us. Now, I can see that I was merely prolonging the inevitable.

I go through the motions of getting ready, taking my time styling my hair, blowing it out into long, dark waves. I keep my makeup simple, adding a small black wing for dramatic effect.

The emotions aren’t the same. There’s no spark of excitement stoked by thoughts of where the night might end up. No exciting tidbits of juicy gossip to share with Becca about my love life. No hope of catching the eye of some guy who might buy me a drink or whisper a few naughty things into my ear while we take a spin on the dance floor.

I glide my fingers over a small selection of dresses that I’ve shoved pretty far into the back of my closet, my hand pausing over one in particular. I wrap my fingers around the hanger, pulling the dress free from the others.

The icy blue of the simple, satin shift dress matches my eyes perfectly. I remember because when I tried it on at the store, the sales associate mentioned it to me. I had turned to her andsmiled with my fingers crossed in the air, telling her it was for a third date. Her eyes lit up and she told me it would make an amazing dress to get proposed to in someday.

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