Page 58 of Choosing the right Man

“Good. I don’t think there’s too much more I can teach you.”

The diner’s crowded, but we manage to get a table on the back deck, the last one available, without a wait. We order food and continue chatting.

“How are things with you and Paul?” he asks.

I cringe the slightest bit. I know we have to talk about my boyfriend, but I don’t want to. I don’t want my good mood to be dampened.

“I honestly can’t answer that. I don’t know. It’s more like we’ve become roommates. Neither of us seems to address any of our issues. If we do try to discuss something, by morning we pretend the conversation didn’t happen.” I don’t go into full detail.

“Are you intimate?” he asks.

It doesn’t matter that I’m an adult, heat rushes to my cheeks at his question. I gaze at my cup of coffee and wait for the floor to swallow me. It doesn’t happen.

“No,” I finally say. “Not for a while.” I’m mortified to admit this.

“That’s definitely a problem.” Thankfully he drops the subject. My father isn’t that typical dad afraid to discuss certain topics. He raised me to be independent and confident and this includes talking to me about uncomfortable subjects. In his opinion it’s all part of life, nothing to be ashamed of.

We finish our lunch without any further awkward questions and then stroll on the beach for hours, collecting seashells and looking for glass balls. It’s a warm day with a perfect breeze blowing off of the water. I feel sixteen again, without a care in the world.

When we’re back in the cabin I relax, feeling refreshed and better than I have in a long while. Things truly are going to be okay. They have to be if I want it enough.

I remember a church lesson from my youth where I’d been told God would never give us more than we could handle. He might push us to the brink so we will know our own strength, but he’ll never push us over the edge.

What I haven’t considered about this beautiful lesson, is that while God might not give us more than we can handle, we might be foolish enough to do it to ourselves. I’m certainly in that category now.

I’ve pushed myself so far over the edge, I’m not sure if I can find a handhold to pull myself back up. It’s okay, though, for at least two days I’m with my dad, and the rest of the world can’t weigh me down.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chloe

Time marches forward. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and then it’s going on a year since I met Mason. I’m living a dual life. I go home every night, mostly to an empty house as Paul spends more time in New York and California than at home.

The only person who knows what’s going on with me is Audrey. She knows it all. If she wasn’t around, I don’t know if I could survive any of this. But I don’t say a word to anyone at work, and Mason and I no longer do anything at the office. I want zero chance of being found out. So far rumors haven’t started.

Paul and I still reside in the same house, even though we don’t make love anymore. It dwindled long ago, and we haven’t been intimate since Mason and I began our affair. He hasn’t seemed to notice, hasn’t come to me and tried.

I don’t know what I’ll do if he does. I can’t be that woman who makes love to two different men. It scared me in the beginning. And then, slowly, the fear died along with most of the guilt. My boyfriend and I don’t talk, don’t confront the fact that we’reliving separately, that we’re no longer a team. We haven’t been for a long time. I’m sure he has someone else, just as I do.

What I’m unsure of is why we don’t admit this to each other. Are we both too afraid to let the other go? We’ve already let go, we just haven’t talked about it, and haven’t stopped living in the same home. We both refuse to talk about it.

I know Paul’s a virile man. There’s no way he’s gone a year without sex. So why aren’t we talking about it? Why don’t we separate? I have no answer to this question.

I spend a rare night with Mason and lie in the bed for a long time watching him sleep. It becomes one of my favorite things to do. I love how all of his defenses are down when he’s fully relaxed.

We have sex all of the time. A day doesn’t pass that we don’t speak. But our conversations don’t have real meaning. He knows a lot about me, has learned about my life, about why I’ve done things the way I have for many years. He knows what I like, what I don’t like. He needs and wants to know this.

But it’s a one-way street. I know practically nothing about him. I don’t know his family, don’t know what he does when he isn’t with me. I don’t know about his past. I know there was something that traumatized him, but I don’t know any more than that.

It’s coming to a point where I have to decide what to do next. I have to accept that Paul and I will not be living together anymore. But this doesn’t mean I’m going to be able to stay with Mason. He tells me he wants me to be his only, but maybe part of me fears what will happen when I move from my home, when all of me is truly available to Mason. Will that be when he decides he doesn’t want me anymore?

Can I survive losing him? Is he already too imbedded in my soul?

I rise and make my way to the bathroom. His house is luxurious with a large walk-in shower with two heads. Mason loves the shower, and spends three times as long as the average person in it.

I know that’s one of his vices, it’s where he washes away the stress of his day, even the stress of his past. I truly want to know why he’s the man he is.

I’m in the shower less than a minute when he finds me. I lose my breath at the sight of him. I don’t think this will ever fade. He walks with confidence, his body hard, his sex ready. There’s such a genuine grace about him, it’s truly awing to be in his presence.

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