Page 11 of Worth the Risk

“Okay, enough of that,” I say, tossing my phone onto the cushion next to me before reaching for my e-reader. I scroll through what feels like an endless to-be-read list, finally settling on one but giving up after only a few pages.

I can’t focus. I can’t even close my eyes and enjoy a moment of nothingness because every time I try, Austin pops into my head. The way he leaned against the bar tonight when he was talking to me. The way his suits always hug his body like a glove. The way he lets out a sexy little groan every time he stretches out his long, muscular legs when he sits down on the couch in my office.

It’s not the attraction to him that bothers me. Austin Blake isn’t just your conventionally attractive guy next door, he’s a god among men. I’ve seen the way women trip over themselves when he just smiles at them. I’ve seen grown men size him up within seconds of being in a crowd with him because he intimates them just by existing. No, I get the appeal, the general, human, biological attraction that my body can’t help but notice. But it’s the unrelenting desire for him that continues to rear its ugly head and has me spiraling.

“It’s just because of the breakup,” I say to myself, grabbing my glass of wine. “You’re lonely.” I take a sip. “And horny,”I mutter a little more quietly when that needy, achy feeling between my thighs reminds me that she’s still there and no amount of self-satisfaction or even attention from Noah ever really scratched that itch. Another reminder that I need to once again charge my vibrator before I go to bed tonight or I’ll be left frustrated and pissed off like I was when I woke up this morning. Yet anotherthingI can’t confess to Austin about why I’ve been in a particular moody mood at work lately.

My phone dings with a message from my best friend, Becca. I slide my thumb across the screen to read it. It’s a picture of her, her fiancé Hector, and Hector’s sister Ariana at a Chicago Cubs game. They’re all smiling, squeezing into the frame with a ‘wish you were here’ message along with it.

Ishouldbe there. Becca had asked me a month ago to go with them but I was too in my feels at the time to agree to it.

“It’ll be good for you. Come on, Taylor.”

“I would but I am seriously buried in work.”

Becca narrows her eyes. “Buried in work or buried in your feelings over this breakup?”

I shrug, feeling a little frustrated that I even have to say it. “Would it be so bad if I was feeling sad? I mean, we were together for almost five years, Bec. It’s not like it was just a fling.”

“I know,” she says with genuine concern, reaching for my hand, “but at the same time—well, honestly, Taylor, he was a dick and you know that. He could barely be bothered to take you out for your birthday or anniversary and don’t even get me started on how he responded when you mentioned getting married after over four years together.”

I jerk my hand back, her words stinging far too harshly than they should have. My chin begins to quiver.

“You think I don’t know that?” I say, wiping furiously at a stray tear. “I told you that stuff in confidence, when I washurting and my world was falling apart. I don’t need it thrown back in my face.”

“I’m sorry.” She hangs her head. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.” I reach into my purse and pull out some cash, tossing it onto the table before standing up. “No, please don’t go.”

I square my shoulders. “Look, I know I screwed up choosing him but I still chose him and I lo—” My voice hitches. “I loved him.”It’s all I can get out before the tears start to fall again so I turn and walk out of the café.

It wasn’t my finest moment, walking out dramatically from brunch when my best friend is honest with me about a man who did, in fact, treat me like I was an option rather than a priority. I should be grateful I have a friend who is willing to be so honest with me after biting her tongue all those years to keep from upsetting me. But a few hours later when she showed up to my apartment that night, we wordlessly threw our arms around each other and cried together right in my doorway.

I smile at the picture, wishing I was there, and type out a response.

Taylor

Wish I was too. Have a beer for me. Go Cubbies!

Instead of putting my phone back down and heading to the bathroom to take a shower and get a decent night’s sleep, I flip back over to the social media app and settle in to watch more videos.

The comments from the women on the videos make me audibly laugh.

Damn, does that man need a pet dog? I can bark!

I’m married but it’s not that serious ;)

My husband said you can come over and play!

I can’t help but imagine what these women would say about Austin if they were to see a video or picture of him. Especially in one of his suits or the way he spreads out on my love seat. A surge of giddy excitement pumps through me at the thought of secretly posting him.

But just as quickly, I think about him on his date and wonder if he’s taken her back to his place already. The image of her sitting quietly at their table with a warm smile on her face flashes through my mind. Something about her felt weirdly familiar, like I’d possibly seen or maybe even met her before. I push the thought aside just as quickly as it enters my head, instead focusing on him and her tangled up in his bedsheets. My stomach sours at the thought but I chalk it up to just being jealous. Not because he isn’t with me but because going through a breakup and heartbreak, no matter how much your ex might not have deserved you, is never really easy.

I turn my attention back to my phone, promising myself that this is the last weekend of self-loathing and crying. Starting next week, I’m moving on to the final stage of acceptance and getting my shit back together.

“Oh, come on, we both know the Bulls have been saying it’s a rebuilding year for the better part of half a decade,” Eric, our head of IT, says as he reaches for a donut in the break room. “I think it’s time we just accept the fact they lost their charm when Jordan left.” The smile on his face crinkles his eyes as he takes a huge powdery bite of a jelly-filled donut.

“You old guys”—Austin shakes his head—“always so ready to just dismiss everything the Bulls have done since Jordan left. We had one championship without him. Come on!”

I chuckle to myself, focusing on refilling my coffee cup as both men laugh and tease one another further about their taste in sports.

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