Page 8 of Something Borrowed

“Embarrass me? Of course not.” She spoke quickly and looked taken aback by his question.

“So why do you invite some other guy to be your date?”

She grabbed him by the shoulders and focused on his eyes. “Because. We’re. Not. Dating.” She spoke the words slowly, as if he were stupid and needed the added emphasis. “We’re having sex. That’s a whole other thing. Most guys would be happy with that. No pressure, no responsibility.”

He broke her grasp gently and turned to the window, looking out into the night and the city lights. “That’s not me, Brigid. That’s never been me. Matthew’s right. I’m not made for casual sex and fun times. I’m about picket fences, commitment, and relationships.”

“You knew the score, Grady.”

“Yeah, I thought I could handle it. But this isn’t working anymore.” He took a deep breath, deciding to go for broke, even if meant chasing her away. “I want something more. With you.”

She stared at him as if he had sprouted horns and a tail. “More?”

“With you,” he clarified. He closed the gap between them, this time holding her in place, afraid she would rabbit on him, bolting as soon as shit got real. “I know this isn’t in your plan, but plans change, right? And change could be good.”

She pulled back, but his grasp never broke, holding her in place. Brigid had a real talent for wiggling out of conversations she didn’t want to have, and this was too important for her to avoid. When she finally met his gaze, her eyes were sad, filled with regret.

Shit, he really should have left it alone.

“Grady, I like you. I really do. But we want different things.”

He dropped his hands. “Obviously.”

She placed her hand on his cheek. “You’re a great guy and I’ve really enjoyed our time together, but you’re right. This isn’t working anymore. It’s time for it to end.”

He gripped her hand. “So, you’re not even going to try an actual relationship?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not. We want different things. Our lives are different. Can you honestly tell me you’d be happy dating someone who worked eighty hours a week, seven days a week? I work a lot. You’ve seen Matthew’s schedule. You want someone to go to the movies with, to go hiking, work on your house. That’s not me. That will never be me.”

“Matthew and Caroline make it work. We could.”

“Caroline knows the score. Her father is an executive partner in the firm. She knows what Matthew has to do to make partner. It’s harder for me, for any woman. And you’ll eventually resent me, cheating on me with some cute interior decorator or something, and we’ll descend into icy silences or shouting matches. I have enough stress at work. I don’t want to ruin this friendship.”

He studied her for a long moment. “So, you don’t want a family, children, a life outside of the firm?” He made a sound of frustration. “Of course not. Your job is your whole life. Everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve been pushed toward your whole life.”

Brigid laid a hand on his arm, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “Yes, this is what I’ve worked toward, just like you have with your business. I’ve had to make sacrifices and choices based on my career to achieve those goals and will continue to do so.”

“What about love?”

Brigid froze and her gaze grew shuttered. “Love is secondary to security and position. But we’re not talking about love here, Grady, only sex.”

His shoulders slumped, the battle lost. He gazed out over her head, focusing on a distant point.

Finally, he said, “Is this what you really want?”

She shrugged. “I was comfortable continuing on as we have been, but now I see you’re right. We’ve fallen into a rut, comfortable with the situation, but it’s not working. It was fine while I was in law school and you were building your business. But now, we’re settling into our lives, and maybe it’s time we find the right people for us, for our lives.”

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but he had to ask. “Why not me?”

This time she paused, staring out over the city lights. “My choice of partner is as important as my work. It’s been made clear to me that I must choose a partner who supports my career and enhances it. Maybe I’ll never find the right person who can handle my lifestyle, but I don’t think you’d be comfortable waiting around for me to stop working. And I don’t see my schedule freeing up soon. Do you really think you can be happy with that?”

He absorbed the words as if they were a physical blow, hitting him low and in the gut. He had thought maybe Brigid was different. She came from a middle-class family and worked hard to get ahead. He didn’t expect her to be like his mother, rejecting him for better opportunities and people. He wasn’t quite ready to give up without a fight, though.

“Are you happy?” He strode to the kitchen and pulled out two bottles of antacids. “Is your job worth getting an ulcer over? I’ve seen you over the past months get thinner and thinner, with more stomach pain, headaches, and less sleep. The job is killing you, and I’m not even sure you like it.”

She took a step back, eyes flashing. “I like my job. It’s been my life’s goal.”

“So? I wanted to be a professional baseball player. Plans change, Brigid. Sometimes we realize the plan is not what makes us happy.”

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