Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection

by Hawkins, Jessica

  All I ever did was love her, hard. It’s defeating to try and explain that to her. I’m happy she’s finally getting there, but I also feel other things about it. Things I don’t yet understand. Like will her sentience keep? Was last night just a preview of what’s to come down the line? And am I ready for a potential lifetime of that?

  The answer is yes. I can handle it. Or, I could have, before she made her decision and got into that cab.

  “I want to keep you safe and happy because I love you,” I say carefully. “I love you so much, Hals, it hurts. Is it supposed to hurt?”

  “A little, I think,” she says, her voice breaking. “It never hurt with anyone else, not like this. Doesn’t that mean something?”

  “It means when you can’t handle the pain, you’ll go to them. The ones who can’t hurt you.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s not true.”

  “You did it last night.”

  She swallows. A few tears leak over her cheeks. I want to go to her, take her in my arms, tell her I forgive her for what she did. The one thing—the only thing—I asked her not to ever do. Go back to him. Choose something or someone over me, the way everyone else in my life has. Because there’s only one way to describe what that choice did to us.

  “Deal breaker,” I tell her. “I could’ve forgiven you anything else. Just not this.”

  “But nothing happened,” she pleads, walking to the bed. “I slept on the couch. I barely even talked to him.”

  That’s probably the least of my worries. After the way she and I have fucked, you don’t go back to someone like Rich for sex. “I believe you didn’t cheat on me. But it still doesn’t matter.”

  She sits on the mattress edge, close to me, and lifts a hand as if to touch me. I look at it, and she scratches her elbow instead. “I don’t love him, either. And I meant it when I said I’d never return to him.”

  “Sadie, who I thought I loved, chose someone else. My mom chose alcohol. Marissa, she’s going to choose Kendra if things keep going as they are. I believed you’d stick with me no matter how hard it got.”

  “I do. I can. I will.”

  We stare at each other. She’s in my sheets, in my head. She always will be. I don’t know what to do. I can’t imagine going on without her, but this feels like the worst kind of betrayal. Indecision wars in me.

  As she searches my face, her expression eases, and she sits back. “You’re right. I have to go.”

  “What?” I ask. “Where?”

  “I have to leave you.” Tears fill her eyes again, but she inhales them back and persists. “If I don’t, you’ll forgive me now and let me stay.”

  I don’t argue with her. It was true the day she walked into the coffee shop, and the first time she came up to my apartment—and it’s true now. I can’t walk away. I can’t ask her to leave. She’s a part of me.

  “You shouldn’t have locked me out of the account last night. Maybe I would’ve revealed myself, maybe not—but it was a mistake I needed to make. If I don’t make these mistakes, I won’t grow up. You’re the one who told me that.” She sniffs. “I need help, Finn.”

  I want to help her. So fucking bad. I thought I was doing that all these months, constantly trying to protect her, deleting what I didn’t want her to see, watching my words about all things coffee, wine, shopping and smoking so I wouldn’t say something to make her feel scolded. She’s right, though. I want to kiss her tears away and make it better, but I can’t. She has to figure this out on her own, and it’s too much for one man, trying to save her from everything. I shouldn’t have bitten my tongue about her stopping treatment on her own when I knew it wasn’t a good idea. The only way I can help her now is by letting her get the help she needs.

  She stands and picks up her shoes. I almost can’t take it. Where will she go? She needs me. I need her. “You can stay a few days,” I tell her. “While you figure things out.”

  She looks at me and shakes her head. “If I do, I’ll break down into a puddle of tears, and you? You’ll pick me up. Dust me off. It’s who you are.” She takes a deep breath. “I love you, Finn. I love you enough to clean up my own mess.”

  32

  All the benches in the park are taken, even the one semi-hidden by a tree, the one I’ve declared as my bench. Not surprising, since it’s a beautiful day. I have to sit on a window ledge across from the park for a few minutes of peace.

  Well, peace is pushing it.

  When my mind is left to its own devices, it eventually drifts to her, and she brings me anything but peace. The memory of her walking out, barefoot in tights, a slump in her shoulders, stings just as sharp now as it did five weeks ago.

  I pop the lid off my cup and toss the teabag in a nearby garbage can. I’m not much of a coffee drinker these days. First Sadie, now Halston. It’s got an unfortunate amount of involvement in introducing me to bogus soul mates. Some days, I want to say fuck it and go get Halston. It still feels like I’m missing a limb, and it doesn’t help that every goddamn square inch of my apartment, with the exception of Marissa’s room, is a reminder of her. There’s no surface I didn’t fuck her on. No corner I didn’t kiss her in. No chair she didn’t sit in my lap. I might have to give up the place.

  I snap the top back in place and take a tentative sip. When I look up and see her coming my way, I nearly spit out my drink but overcorrect and end up dumping burning hot liquid onto my tongue. I use my napkin to mop up the spillage, my gaze trained on her. She hasn’t seen me.

  Sadie.

  My heart hammers in my chest. She walks in my direction. My urges jump between stopping her and bolting, but it looks like I won’t be doing either since I’m frozen to the spot. As stealthily as I can, I lower my sunglasses onto my face in hopes she won’t see me.

  Fuck. In a city this big, I’d hoped I’d never have to see her again. I don’t know where she lives now, probably Brooklyn, but she left this neighborhood right after Nathan found out about us.

  She looks the same, except that I’ve never seen her in spring, only winter. I remember her as dark, but she’s wearing a pink dress. To my surprise, it suits her. Her face is fuller, her dark hair shorter. A year and a half ago, I would’ve called her the love of my life, my soul mate, my future. Now I know—she was little more than someone in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending how you look at it.

  Me? Now that I’m completely over her, I can say it was right. I don’t miss her. It’s a good thing she chose Nathan, because if she hadn’t, I never would’ve met Halston.

  Even if just thinking Halston’s name is like a knife in my heart, I don’t regret a second of my time with her.

  As Sadie passes by, the only urge I have left is to thank her for knowing better than I did. I will it to her, hoping she knows on some level that I’m grateful.

  And then she stops.

  Fuck.

  She’s a foot past me when she says, without looking back, “I have a baby now. A girl.”

  I let the news sink in. It could’ve been me, and I’m glad it wasn’t. I respond, sincerely, “I’m happy for you.”

  “What about you? Have you met her yet?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl. The soul mate. The one.”

  “You don’t believe in fate.”

  She tilts her head. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

  I don’t have to think too hard about it. “Yeah. I’ve met her.”

  I think she’s about to walk off, but then she turns around. She takes off her sunglasses, and so do I. Her eyes are as beautiful as I remember, an intoxicating blend of purple and blue. They’re not the cool, calm-before-the-storm gray I want in my life, though.

  She comes and sits on the ledge next to me. “And?”

  “And what?” My breakup with Halston is on both our shoulders. Just like with Sadie, I put a lot of stock in fate, in meant-to-be. I trusted that love was enough, even though I knew better. “I fucked it up. Is that what you exp
ected to hear?”

  She sighs, fidgeting with her sunglasses. “Of course not.”

  “What’s wrong with me, Sadie? Why can’t I get it right?”

  She smiles softly. The baby has made her warmer, I think. “I’m so sorry for how I hurt you. It was brutal. Nathan was my priority, and I didn’t have the time to let you down easy. But you know . . . Nate and I, we’re so happy now. And we’re not.”

  My body tenses. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t need to know how content or miserable she is.

  “Because that’s love, Finn. We work at it every day, still, even though we both understand that the other person isn’t going anywhere, even when times are tough.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Happy endings don’t exist. That’s your problem. You thought you and I would ride off into the sunset and let fate take the reins.” She squints out at the park and shakes her head. “Nope. Fate doesn’t stick around for happy endings—it only gives you the opportunity to work for one.”

  Sadie’s been in Halston’s shoes. She’s had to withstand the pressure of being ‘the one.’ I know I lay it on thick. I expected to save Halston, and for her to save me. So that I could have my fairytale. And that’s not exactly fair.

  Sadie slips her sunglasses back on. “I have to get back to work, but I have a feeling you’ll be okay. If she’s really the one, you’ll get her back.”

  Halston is my soul mate, love of my life, my future. She’s a handful and a lot of work, but I’ve made it this far. Sadie’s right. Why would I give it up to fate now, knowing that fucker’ll fumble the ball?

  She stands and continues down the sidewalk.

  “Sadie?”

  She looks back at me. “Hmm?”

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I admit to myself I don’t really like tea. Not every day. Even though it’s painful to be there, I miss Lait Noir. It can’t be any worse than being at home, so I get my laptop and camera and head down the street to the café for the first time since Halston left.

  There’s nowhere to sit. It was idiotic to think fate had reserved me a table in a coffee shop or a bench in a park.

  Honestly, what the fuck.

  I check to see if my secret windowsill is open, so I’ll at least have a place to wait for a table to open up.

  But what’s on the ledge sucks the breath right out of my lungs.

  Memories hammer my brain like little metal bullets.

  Not again.

  I can’t go through this a second time.

  This is a sick joke.

  I walk over slowly, staring at the journal wrapped up in a leather bow. My chest tightens with regret, love, sorrow, longing. I look around, but nobody’s nearby. Maybe someone ran to the bathroom and left it to save their spot. Maybe it’s an illusion. Maybe fucking aliens beamed it down from outer space. Yeah, that sounds likelier than the other possibility.

  It belongs to Halston.

  I should walk away.

  I pick it up.

  Open it.

  Like the first time, the opening lines slam me in the chest, but for a different reason.

  December 8th

  I think I’ve met the one. Which is strange, because that was supposed to be Rich. I never had this feeling with him, though. This fluttering in my tummy. I’m glad to report (fiiiinally) that butterflies do exist.

  I can’t do this. I can’t be reading this. I continue.

  Okay, butterflies are a bad way to describe love. That sounds more like lust. That would be fine too. I’ve always wanted to know what true lust felt like. I can’t possibly love this man I just met one week ago. Oh—Finn. His name is Finn.

  I skip ahead.

  January 23rd

  Rough

  Sandpaper kisses as calloused as your hands, as domineering as your fuck, as excruciating as your goodbyes. When you say hello, I can’t wait to do it all over again.

  February 14th

  He’s the last Valentine I ever want.

  With that entry, there’s a rough sketch of us at dinner. All that time, she was writing. Just not for anyone else but her, like it was in the beginning. The journal is filled to the last line of the very last page. It’s an entry she wrote a few days ago.

  April 15th

  I still love him. He should have this journal. He knows my heart is this, these pages, these words. And my heart belongs with him, not me.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  A woman waiting for her coffee looks at me.

  “This is yours,” I tell her, hoping she’s also in love with some schmuck named Finn. “Right? This is yours.”

  She shakes her head, inching away from me.

  In the top corner of the last page is a drawing of two black and white coffee cups with a heart around them. They each have Lait Noir logos scribbled in. Where it all began.

  She’s here, I know it. I scan the café until I spot her in line, waiting. She must’ve been here the whole time, because there are a lot of people behind her, and she’s next to order.

  I don’t hesitate to walk right up behind her. “Is this for me?”

  She doesn’t turn around. “If you want it.”

  I don’t even try to fight my pull to her. I’ve missed this, her. It sits like a hole in my chest, missing her. “Sit down with me.”

  “There aren’t any tables.”

  “I know a place.”

  “Back of the line, man,” the guy behind me says. “You think I’m standing here for my health?”

  “Two black coffees,” I tell the barista. I reach past Halston to put a ten on the counter and get a welcome waft of her shampoo. “Keep the change if you make it fast.”

  The barista makes quick work of delivering our drinks.

  Halston keeps her back to me as she picks up the coffee, inhales quickly enough that nobody’d catch it but me, and heads for the windowsill.

  She doesn’t look at me once, but I don’t remove my eyes from her. “What’s wrong?” I ask and let my half-smile rip. “Are you worried I’ve let myself go?”

  “I don’t want to look at you until I know what you’re going to say,” she says.

  “I don’t even know what I’m going to say. Are we going to sit back to back?”

  “If we have to.”

  “I still love you too. How’s that for a start?”

  She shakes her head. “I already knew that.”

  I get a sense of satisfaction from hearing that. With all the things said between us, how we hurt each other, sometimes on purpose, how I told her I couldn’t let it go that she’d walked out on me, one might think it’d dampen my love for her. Not the case. “Sit,” I tell her.

  She does and finally looks up. She’s wearing blue eyeliner. Little minx. With the sun coming in through the window, the blue makes her gray eyes pop. I take the place across from her. “I thought of you the other day,” I say. “Well, I think of you most hours of every day, but, in particular, I thought of calling you.”

  She looks at her coffee and flicks the edge of the lid. “I had to delete your number or I would’ve called countless times.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She lifts one shoulder. “It didn’t seem fair. Not until I was ready.”

  “So this?” I show her the journal. “It means you’re ready?”

  “It means . . . I didn’t want you to forget about me.”

  “Never.”

  She fails to suppress a smile. “I moved in with Benny.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You have a roommate?”

  She nods. “I was nervous to do it, but the alternative was moving to Westchester with Dad or getting my own place again. I bit the bullet and asked if she knew of anyone looking. It turns out her roommate was leaving at the end of the month, and she was actually really excited to have me. I crashed on her couch and officially moved in April first.”

  I don’t want to sound like a condescending asshole, so I don’t tell her I
’m proud of her, even though I am. “How is it?”

  “I don’t mind the smell of sautéed Brussels sprouts. Tuna, on the other hand . . .” She laughs. “Benny has these two cats, and they’re—I mean, they’re just like her friends. Sassy, loud, playful. Her friends are so fun. We meet them after work. We get dinner or drinks or go check out a new neighborhood. Or some of them have side businesses, so we take our laptops to cafés and work side by side. We went to this outdoor movie in a park, where you put a blanket down—”

  Her grin fades, probably because I’m staring at her, lapping up every word from her mouth.

  “I mean, it’s been hard too,” she says quietly. “Don’t get me wrong. I miss you all the time.”

  “I want you to be having fun, Hals. It makes me happy. What do you work on? On your laptop.”

  “Oh, nothing. I don’t have a business.” She bites her bottom lip with a smile. “Well, I’ve been doing a little writing. It’s starting to flow again. My new therapist says sometimes, you have to force it, you can’t wait for inspiration to strike because it might not.” A strand of hair falls over her face, and I’m tempted to tuck it behind her ear.

  I keep my hands to myself. “New therapist?”

  She nods. “Cindy. She got me into journaling in the mornings. It has to be first thing, and it changes my whole day.”

  “Is that what this is about?”

  She looks lovingly at the journal in my hand. “No. I started that when we met. I had a feeling you and I could fill a book, but I was afraid what you’d think if you knew. I obsessed, Finn. You were my coffee, did you know?”

  I bring my drink to my mouth, appreciating its warmth. “I think so.”

  Because you were mine.

  “I wrote about you when I wasn’t with you. Not all the time, but some days. We only filled it halfway.” She frowns. “So when my therapist suggested journaling, I decided to do it in there some days. So I could look back on my transformation.”

  “Shouldn’t you keep it then?”