Page 27 of Drawn to You
The emotional part of me wants to indulge in our passionate moments over and over, and the rational part of me whispers warnings.It’s too good to be true. It’s not meant to happen.Andrew has no desire to commit. I knew it. I have seen him date plenty of women, and I don’t expect him to treat me differently. But it kills me to think last night, and this morning’s dreams won’t last. It’s one thing to admire a man in a distance and not get attached. It’s quite another to have a taste of him and then let him go.
Tears already threaten to rush down my cheeks as I imagine one day, perhaps soon, Andrew will say to me, “I’m sorry, Britt, it’s over between us.”
Oh God. Oh God. It hurts so much just to imagine it.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just enjoy the moment while it lasts? Nothing lasts forever, right? Even if he’s a commitment type, even if he stays with me forever, his affection might still vanish one day. Why should I worry?
I try to read an eBook but couldn’t get into the story.
I close the eBook and open my web browser, and search:how long does love last? I get different answers. Some people say it lasts five years, others say two years. Well, my infatuation for him has certainly lasted over five years, but I’m not sure about his.
But I can’t imagine being with a different guy. I am Andrew’s girl. I’ve wanted him for years, and now I’ve given him my V-card too. I don’t think I can let him go. I think I would want to kill other women he touches.
My God. This is insane. I need to get away from him. It’s the only solution. I need to stop my madness before it gets more serious. The wise thing to do is move out and end it now before he dumps me, but no way in hell will I give him up at this point. No, not after what we did last night.
I log in to my FB account. I’m not a big fan of social media and haven’t visited my account since I graduated from college. Andrew added me to be his friend about five years ago, and checking on his activities used to be my favorite pastime. I still remember the joy I experienced from browsing his photos. He didn’t post that many photos, but I perused the ones available. I was on every trip he took and went to every meal he had at a new restaurant. And, of course, I got a little jealous each time he posted photos he took with his girlfriends. Later, he got busy with his business and stopped updating his page, so I stopped checking as well. Lately, there is no need to do it because I see him every day.
Andrew hasn’t had many activities lately, and most of the photos added are related to the gym, and I guess it means he hasn’t taken much time off work.
He has a lot of friends, though, and not surprisingly, most of them are women. I browse through them and spot Melissa. I don’t hesitate to check her page—and it turns out to be a mistake.
Unsurprisingly, the model has tons of photos in her albums. Most of them are her modeling shots. Some of them are taken with Connor, many are in skimpy outfits, and quite a few are in bikinis from Sports Illustrated.
And then, a recent post catches my attention: Melissa Rey Engaged to Owner of Model Body Fitness. It’s an article from Star Magazine and posted by Melissa or her social media manager.
My heart plunges, and the blood drains from my body. As I go on to read the rest of the post, the first thing I see is a photo of Melissa and Andrew in a hotel lobby— his arm is draping around her shoulders, and she’s leaning into his chest. I recognize immediately it’s the silk cocktail dress she wore on Labor Day.
The first line of the article confirms the time. “The supermodel is spotted at Marriot Beverly Hills with her fiancé/ boyfriend, Andrew Adams, on Labor Day.”
In another photo, the two of them are kissing passionately in front of the elevator in a hotel lobby. I feel sick, but I can’t stop reading.
“The model admits that she spent a cozy evening with her long-term boyfriend, the owner of Model Body, which is named in honor of the model herself…”
This is not true, I mumble. Dana told me Connor suggested the name, and he’s a model too. But what do I know?
“Are you two going to tie the knot soon?” The reporter of the gossip magazine asked the model during the interview.
“I hope so,” the model answered. “I really like Andrew. We’re so right for each other. He adores me and makes me feel special. But then, we’re in an open relationship. My schedule is crazy and I can’t be with him all the time, so I allow him to see other women.”
It goes on but I can’t stand it any longer. I slam my phone on my lap.
I’m such a fool. I recall the first time Andrew touched me in the spa. And to think that he did it to me right after he fucked Melissa in her hotel room just sickens me. How could he have done that? He was engaged to her, but slept with me? Why get engaged if you want an open relationship? It doesn’t even make sense to me. I don’t understand what exactly an open relationship means, and I don’t know why any woman would go for it. But it is unacceptable to me.
Why did he even come back that night? Why did she leave his house? I have so many questions, but I don’t even want to know the answers. I can only blame myself. I knew there was something between Melissa and Andrew, but I didn’t bother to ask him to clarify their relationship. I just assumed it wasn’t serious between them. Shit. No wonder he wants no strings attached between us. Because he’s already tied, or about to be tied to someone else. Of course. It all makes sense, and it hurts. I have to get out of here. I don't want to be Andrew’s temporary toy he uses to fill the void in his open relationship with Melissa or any other woman.
I run into my bathroom and have a good sobbing, and then I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror.
“Time to wake up!” I say to my reflection. “Stupid girl. You’re not in Andrew’s league. He’s going to marry a glamorous model, not an ugly duckling like you!”
And then I turn on my phone again to check the address of the apartment Darrell told me about before getting into my Ford.
I’m driving on Melrose. I can’t believe the famous street looks so dilapidated. It’s packed with rundown shops and shopping carts, and once in a while, there are even homeless tents.
The apartment is around here, and I slow down. When I see the building that matches the descriptions Darrel gives me, I cringe.
It’s an ancient red brick building with fire exits. It reminds me of the place Julia Roberts lives in the movie Pretty Woman, except it doesn’t look half as romantic. Those stairs look rusty and frail; I don’t think they can bear Andrew’s two hundred pounds, even if he would climb up there to save me.
Nonetheless, I can’t even find parking nearby because there are so many people living here.
