Page 6 of Tender Offer
I’ve had enough of men and sanding layers of dust off my vagina with toys every other night. My vibrators are tired.I’mtired.
A bottle of wine, a dry spell from mediocre sex, andThe Last Holidayon repeat led to a computer search for the cure to the mess my love life has become. Christmas alone didn’t sit well with my family, but I needed the break, and I deserved a taste of paradise. When I stumbled across a seven-day singles’ retreat in Vail, Colorado, from my suite in Aruba, I figured, why not? My luck with finding a decent bachelor is somewhere in Hell, anyway.
Sharing my life with someone was the furthest thing from my priorities until I looked up and realized the years were whipping by at lightning speed. I never wanted to settle down in my twenties, and I put off serious relationships to build my styling business. Now, at thirty-seven, I’m ready. If only the prospects were better. At this rate, I’ll be ninety and still swiping left.
Running into Terrence at a singles’ retreat was a sign, or so I thought. I didn’t know he’d be here when I booked this trip on a whim, and I all but launched myself at him during the opening mixer on the first night. A white collared shirt under a navy sweater doesn’t scream turn-on, but a year of no sex and a now-available ex will do it.
He stood alone, drawing eyes around the crowded ballroom. Women were powerless against his caramel perfection, his straight brows furrowed over black-rimmed glasses, his wide nose. His thick lips stretched into a smile at my approach.
Terrence has been that guy since college. The years have been good to him, sharpening the square jaw now covered in a trimmed goatee. He still has a crop of black curls he keeps styled above a taper fade and looks more attractive than the day we met at Staci’s house party our sophomore year.
I never had a one-night stand until him. He wasn’t my first, but he was the first to soften the heart I didn’t want to give away. His passion matched the inferno of his body, but his care made me feel safe. One hookup turned into several. Before we knew it, we were in the two-month relationship I ended before my trip to Paris. It wasn’t his reputation for playing the field that made me hesitant to try long distance. It was his desire to be a family man one day, and I refused to sacrifice my dreams to live in any man’s future.
I didn’t believe in coincidence, but I became a convert when Terrence popped up at this retreat, fine and fair game and without a wedding ring. Sifting through a lifetime supply of emotionally unavailable men will have you hoping the ex who treated you right will see you as more than just someone from his past who he occasionally runs into because of work.
He was safe, familiar. He never hurt me. If there was a chance for us to have another go, I’d take it. Love would eventually come with time.
Harboring a forbidden crush on a married man was never a goal. It sounds bad, I know. I’m not in the habit of chasing after any man—married or otherwise. The crush just…happened. It was clearly a one-sided connection that I allowed to grow through his kindness and my self-assurance I deserve more.
Was it wrong? I’ll admit it was.
I didn’t set out to harbor feelings for an old flame, but it’s hard not to think about one of the only stable relationships in my life after so many awful attempts. The crush evaporated…until whispers of his separation surfaced.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped caring in order to mask my own pain. I’m not proud to admit it, but flirting was a game I mastered. Simple teasing and friendly banter hit the mark whenever my path would cross with Terrence’s throughout theyears—him training celebrities and me styling them. He never caught on, but Justice did. I knew it stung, but I didn’t care.
Women like his wife are put on a pedestal. Men trip over themselves to move the world for their comfort. I wasn’t the quiet cheerleader who belonged in a Disney special like Justice or the homecoming queen like my sister, praised for settling down into a life of tradition. I couldn’t compete, and I found myself resenting how quickly men offered forever to the type of woman I’d never be.
Nice guys might finish last, but good girls are always the prize.
Karma has a way of catching up with you. She sat my ass down tonight and forced me to look at who I’ve become.
The stiletto heel I attempt to hop out of catches on the carpet. I stumble, slamming my knee into the bedroom doorway.
“Shit.”
Pain reaches up the hem of my black off-the-shoulder minidress, which did me no favors tonight.
Any hope I had for a healthy relationship came crashing down eight minutes ago. Terrence walked me to my room and all but told me to have a good life. I’m still processing the embarrassment.
Everything was perfect.
My hair that took two hours to straighten.
My makeup that requires an advanced degree in contouring.
These titties propped up to perfection.
All of it wasted on a man I should’ve purged from my system years ago.
She is my heartbeat.
Of course he still loves her.
Slate tiles in a palette of brown and gray come to life at the flick of the bathroom light switch.
Prominent cheekbones, naturally thick arched brows, and a slightly downturned nose stare back at me through a gold-framed mirror. They reflect generations of Dubois women fortified in melanated shades and Creole flavor. It’s still a struggle to see beyond the beauty marks and face the blemishes that run skin-deep.
“What are you doing?” My sigh floats through my resentment of how pitiful I’ve become.
