Page 17 of Certified Heartthrob

“You were in just as big of a hurry to get your own clothes back on,” she argued to my back, but her voice drifted off from a different part of the apartment...one that we hadn’t made it to the night before.

She returned a moment later in a fresh pair of sweats with my shirt in her hand, which she swiftly tossed in my direction. I was shocked for a moment at seeing her so dressed down.

“That’s a far cry from the skirts and suits I usually see you in,” I remarked. How was it that she was even more gorgeous in leisurely PJ’s than she was in her regular clothes?

“I am a human.” She shrugged sarcastically. “I do all the same things as you...like eating, sleeping, relaxing.”

I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Okay, maybe I don’t relax quite as much…”

We both seemed to slip into unwanted memories from last night...when she was relaxing against my mouth and again with me inside of her. In fact, if I recalled correctly...she’d been relaxing right along with me until the early hours of the morning.

Her brain had to be traveling to all the same places as mine, because right at that moment she stopped suddenly and made a mad dash for her phone. “Fuck! It’s early noon! I was supposed to be at the office hours ago!”

“It’s your family’s company,” I argued. “Surely you won’t get in trouble.”

“It’s not about a standard they set for me,” she huffed. “It’s about the standard I set for myself.”

Our eyes met and I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t just talking about being late. By sleeping with me, she had let herself down. The impulsive, playful woman who came out the night before was long gone.

“It’s fine,” she decided, adjusting the frazzled bun on her head. “I’ll just work from home. But you really should go.”

“Scared I’ll leak all the inner-workings of Heartstring to the rest of the world?” I remarked.

The expression on her face darkened even more, letting me know that I had said the worst possible thing. “Yes,” she snapped. “Yes, exactly. You’ll leak everything to all the gossip columns. But wait—you already tried to do that, didn’t you?”

“Look, I’m sorry...but did I miss something here? You were the one who threw yourself at me, not once but twice last night.”

“Is that going to end up all over the internet tomorrow, too?” She sneered.

“I may be causing you and your company some trouble,” I admitted. “I get that. But I’m not that big of an asshole.”

She looked down at the floor, shifting her feet. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“Okay. I’m really going to go now,” I decided, looking around for the rest of my things...like my wallet and phone. I gathered everything and headed for the door. Camille did nothing to stop me or change my mind, much less apologize for the rude awakening. I guess I should have expected that.

Just before I reached her front door, I stopped. “Just in case you still had some questions about why I hate relationships so much...this morning is a prime example.”

I stormed out, slamming the door behind me. I hadn’t made it halfway back to my place before I regretted how everything went down. It made no sense, how everything seemed to change overnight, but that truly was what I hated about love. That was how it happened. Things morphed in an instant, with no warning. Moods, feelings, and people changed just as quickly as the tides of a stormy ocean. There was no stopping it, no predicting it.

The only way to stay safe was to avoid it altogether. But once the wheels were set in motion, it was impossible to just shut it off. And that was the part that bugged me the most.

I restlessly paced through my house, mentally retracing our steps from the night before. Her scent lingering on my body only made it harder to see through to my logic...the rational part of my brain that could overpower all the chemicals firing off.

There was one way to fix it. A foolproof method for erasing a lover was to go find another one as quickly as possible. One that stood no chance of doing anything more than making you forget about the last one.

I sat down at my computer, on a mission to do just that. My dating vendetta had turned into compulsive dating...like a drug. I could see it all happening right before my eyes, but couldn’t do anything to stop it.

I went through the motions. Picked a pretty girl from the messages waiting in my inbox. We made dinner plans for that evening. I showed up, gave my speech, pissed her off, watched her march off....

Camille was right. Dates were better when they ended with a kiss...and then everything that came after. I’d considered laying on the charm real thick and seducing the woman. But that was a gamble I had taken the night before, and all it did was bite me in the ass.

By the time I made it back into my own bed that night, the uneasy feeling in my gut hadn’t subsided one bit. I kept replaying that morning with Camille in my brain over and over again.

What would have happened if I’d tried to convince her it wasn’t a mistake? If I had been sweet and invited her to breakfast or offered to cook? I could have talked her into taking the day off and maybe the same events would have played out all over again.

I rolled over in my bed, feeling sick. Having her naked body next to mine again would have been a million times better than sulking alone with my old resentment.

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