Page 12 of Choosing the right Man

There are days when work goes incredibly well, and days it doesn’t. I love my new job. I love the people, love the atmosphere, and love the challenge of the work. It’s like putting a puzzle together. The pieces have to fit in just the right place or the puzzle’s ruined. I’m going to take online college classes. For the first time since graduating from high school I’m thinking more about a solo future than one built around my boyfriend. All of our plans seem to be evaporating far faster than they were made.

I hated college the first time I tried it, but I’ve matured, I’ve grown. Now I want independence. I want to know that I don’t have to depend on anyone. I’d love to be able to depend on a special someone, but I don’t want tohaveto. That’s the difference. This makes me want a degree, makes me want to better myself. It’s for me, and me alone.

Mason giving me a ride home isn’t helping my turmoil. I lean against my front door and listen for the sound of his vehicle leaving. I let out a sigh of relief when he’s gone. Paul is nowhere to be found. I’m sure he’s in his office. Good. I need a few minutes to gather myself. I’m going to talk to him tonight. I needto before I lose my mind. I’m feeling far too many emotions toward my boss not to have a legitimate conversation with the man I thought I’d be with until the day I died.

It won’t work out with Mason. I’m well aware of this, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m affected by him. If I’m this moved by Mason, I don’t feel enough for Paul. I want to make it work, but I’m not sure we can anymore. I’m going to give it one more try, though, because I was once head-over-heels in love with him. I can find this again, can’t I? I think it’s the friendship I’m far more fearful of losing than the lover I’ve already lost.

I finally move away from the front door. I need a glass of wine first, maybe even get him to give me one of his world-famous foot rubs. He’s fantastic at them. Maybe this is reason enough to stay with the man. The relationship isn’t all bad, I assure myself. We still have incredible moments together... they’re just fewer and farther between.

Nearing his office, I notice his music isn’t playing, so he might be done with work. As I turn down the hallway, I see the light’s still on and his door’s shut. He rarely shuts the door since he works from home alone. His office is the largest room in the house. It was an addition he built the first year we moved in, but he doesn’t like shutting the door and feeling closed in. I stop with my hand on the knob.

Is that a woman’s voice? My heart thuds as I stand in silence, too shocked to have any thoughts circling my brain. What is a woman doing here? I take a few deep breaths. The worst thing I can do is jump to conclusions. I look at my watch; it’s nearly midnight. What in the heck? I listen for another minute. I realize the time, and he hasn’t even checked to see where I am, either. Seriously, what is wrong with us?

There’s no mistaking the tinkling laughter of a soft feminine voice. This still doesn’t mean anything. We don’t have rules for who can and can’t come into our home. We don’t have arelationship like that. We trust each other. Our union isn’t as perfect as it had once been, but we still have trust for each other, that’s for sure. Though, to be honest, I’ve been breaking this trust lately. A sigh escapes me at my hypocrisy.

I begin to turn the knob, knowing it’s ridiculous for me to keep standing outside the door. But then I hear Paul’s voice, and his words about break my heart. “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

Tears spring to my eyes for about three seconds before red-hot fury overtakes me. He’s inmyhome with some trashy bitch behind a closed door, and he’s openly flirting. The rational side of my brain tells me there’s an explanation for this. The voice of a million women who’ve come before me warns me not to make excuses for him. The hypocrite in me is well aware of the feelings I’ve been having for Mason. I ignore all of these voices and the emotion that comes along with them.

I turn the knob and step into the room. I manage to mask the wrath I’m feeling, but I’m certainly not smiling as I walk inside. I find Paul with... with a woman I don’t recognize. I stand before them in shock. She’s wearing an indecently tight skirt with a top that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Her nails are painted bright red, and they’re resting on my boyfriend’s chest as she giggles at what he’s just said. Neither of them spin around at my entrance, but they both turn slowly to see who can possibly be interrupting them. Paul doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed at what he’s doing. The woman glares at me, as ifI’mthe one in the wrong for interrupting whatever they have going on. I should be furious, and Iamannoyed, but why? Is it because this looks like he’s cheating, or is it because I don’t like this woman being in my home? I don’t want to analyze this too much.

I look her dead in the eye. She should be hanging her head in shame, should be mortified at having been caught trying toseduce my boyfriend. Inmyhouse! What sort of woman does that to another? I know exactly what sort.

“What’s so amusing?” I ask.

The woman takes her time removing her hand from Paul’s body. She does it just in time for me not to break her perfectly manicured fingers. I slide up to them, not touching Paul. I’m too confused and annoyed for that, but I’m definitely letting this woman know this ismyhouse.

“Paul and I were discussing a work project. We might be meeting quite late tonight,” the woman says. The look of fury has evaporated from her face, and what she replaces it with makes me angrier. She looks at me with pity as if I’ve already lost him. Maybe I have. Maybe I even want to. However, I’m not letting this woman make the choice for me. Paul and I are the ones to make that decision, not another man, and certainly not another woman.

“I think your meeting is over. It’s late,” I tell her. My voice is icy cold. Paul finally seems to realize we have a problem. I’ve never taken him for a foolish man before, but at this moment, I’m reassessing this thought.

“Is everything okay, Chloe?” he asks, finally giving me his full attention.

“No, everything isn’t okay,” I tell him. I turn back to the woman. “You can leave now.”

My voice doesn’t give even the slightest hint that I’m kidding. She can either walk out of my house, or I’m going to pull her out by her shiny blonde hair. Her eyes narrow as she thinks about challenging me. But just as quickly as she shows her venom, she places a mask over her expression and turns to look at Paul, sympathy in her eyes and voice. She’s close to getting her eyes poked out.

“It seems you have problems to deal with,” she says. “We’ll finish later.” She doesn’t wait for a reply. For one brief second,I think she’s going to stand on her toes and kiss him. She leans forward the slightest bit and my entire body tenses. I think I might end up in prison for murder. I realize truly for the first time that Paul might be with other women. He might have been with multiple. What else explains our lack of a sex life? He’s always been a viral man, but not with me for the past two years. So, is he getting his needs met somewhere else? I again wonder what we’re doing to each other.

The woman finally turns, not sparing me another glance as she walks from the room. I look back at Paul, and his eyes have narrowed as he stares at me. He now looks likehe’sthe one who’s angry. I don’t say a word as I listen for the sound of the front door closing. I think I hear it, but I want to be sure.

I march out of the studio, straight to the front of the house. The woman is walking down the sidewalk to her shiny red Mercedes. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it sitting there when I came home. I must’ve been more tired and distracted than I realized. I’m not going to analyze my confusion when it comes to Mason. Right now my full focus is on Paul. All thoughts of sleep have now vanished.

“What in the hell was that about?” Paul asks as I move away from the door and walk into the kitchen. I pull out a bottle of wine and open it, nearly filling the glass to the brim. I take a very large swallow before I dare say a word to him. I also don’t offer him any.

“I’m the one who should be asking that question. What are you doing allowing a woman who clearly wants to screw you, into my house?” My voice sounds clipped and icy. I’m not proud of my behavior. He looks stunned.

“There’s nothing going on between Michele and me. She’s a work associate. That’s all.” He seems to realize the danger he’s in because his voice has calmed.

“Really? This is the story you’re sticking with?”

“It’s not a story,” he tells me. “It’s the truth.”

“I heard your little comment about showing her yours and her showing you hers,” I snap. I’ve drained the entire glass of wine. I refill it, nearly emptying the bottle. He still looks confused, then smiles. He actuallysmilesat me. I’m now thinking of scratchinghiseyes out.

“We were kidding around. I have a new project I haven’t unveiled yet and she’s been pestering me to see it. She also has a mysterious client who does phenomenal work, but no one knows who it is. It’s driving me crazy, and I need to know,” he tells me. I process his words, letting them roll around in my brain. It makes sense. It’s rational. But something feels wrong.

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