by Sky Corgan
The question catches me off guard. I hadn't really put any thought into it until now. “It doesn't bother me that he has a girlfriend. It bothers me that this girl is so possessive over him. It sounds like she doesn't want us hanging out anymore.”
“Possessiveness can be a good thing.” Peter gazes out into the distance.
“That's a bit overbearing though.” I wrinkle my nose.
“Maybe she has the right idea.” He looks over at me.
“What do you mean?”
“I don't want you hanging out with other guys either.”
He's using his business voice, so I know that he's serious.
My stomach twists as I realize that includes Caleb. I'm not sure if I'm happy that Peter wants me all to himself or if that makes me sad. I'm still closer to Caleb in a lot of ways. But if Caleb's girlfriend doesn't want us hanging out together and neither does my boyfriend, then what can I really say about it other than, “Oh. Alright.”
Peter faces me. He's gazing at me so intently that it's making my palms sweat. I feel like he's expecting an argument, but I'm not about to go against his wishes.
“I need to tell you something, but I'm afraid it will scare you off,” he says.
Oh shit. This can't possibly be good. Now my entire body is starting to sweat.
“Alright,” I reply hesitantly, waiting for the bomb to drop.
“I know that we haven't been dating for very long, but I can't control what I'm feeling, and I need to say what's in my heart.”
“Alright,” I say again, having no idea where this is going.
“Willow Stroop, I love you.”
“What?” My mouth drops open and my eyes double in size.
Peter's serious expression breaks into a smile.
I feel like a jolt of electricity was sent straight to my heart. It stopped beating for a moment, and now it's pounding out of control. The amount of warmth I'm feeling inside is almost unbearable, and I know it's made its way to my cheeks to settle into a blush.
“You love me?” I ask because I still can't believe he said it first. I was one hundred percent sure I'd be the first one to say it.
He refocuses on the children, still wearing that charming grin. “I think it's time to take our relationship a step further, don't you think?” Peter glances at me out of the corner of his eye.
I gulp hard, having a pretty good idea of what he means. An alarm goes off inside of my head, a thread of suspicion that he just said he loved me to get me into bed. I can't believe that, though, if we're going to make this relationship work. He had to have meant it.
“Mhm.” I nod, unable to form words. My mouth is dry—my brain blank.
“Good. Then shall we go back to my place.”
I always thought my first time would be magical like in the movies. As I lie naked under the sheets in Peter's bed with a new soreness between my legs, all I can do is wonder if I did the right thing. He was gentle and kind and affectionate. In fact, he was absolutely perfect. I'm the one who was off.
I glance over at him sleeping soundly beside me. He's every bit as sexy naked as I imagined he'd be. I should feel like the luckiest woman alive to be with a man like him. No. I am the luckiest woman alive.
I don't know how I could have possibly expected more from the intimate moments we shared together. But I just couldn't focus. There was so much happening so fast. Losing my best friend. Peter's new possessiveness. His love confession. And now this. I haven't really had time to process it all.
I can only assume he wants me to stay the night since he passed out, but I don't have any clothes here for work tomorrow, so I roll out of bed, get dressed, and gently shake his arm to wake him before I let myself out.
He yawns to life as if he's just had a full night's sleep. “What's wrong?”
“I'm going to go,” I whisper.
“Why?” He glances over at the clock on his bedside table.
“I don't have clothes here.”
“Alright.” He drops his head back down on the pillow and rubs his eyes. “Give me a minute and I'll get up and take you home.”
“Don't worry about it. I'll just get an Uber.” I dig in my purse for my phone.
He looks up at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. You go back to sleep.” I bend to give him a chaste kiss on the lips before heading for the door.
“Text me when you get home so that I'll know you made it there safely.”
“Alright.” I nod to him before leaving.
Everything feels surreal as I sit in the passenger seat and stare out the window while the city passes by me. Fast. Everything is going so fast. I can barely emotionally keep up.
I'm not unhappy, though. More just surprised by how I'm feeling. Or how I'm not feeling.
As soon as I get to my apartment complex, habit makes me want to go straight to Caleb's place. I've just had the most amazing afternoon. There's no one I would rather share the details with.
But as I stop in front of the door to Caleb's apartment, I know better than to knock. His harsh words play back in my mind. It was like he didn't even care that this girl he had just started dating would put an end to our friendship. I want to think critically of him, but Peter basically did the same thing. Is this what real relationships are like?
“You wouldn't even tell me you had a girlfriend, so you don't need to know about my hot time with Peter.” I huff at his apartment door before turning around and entering my unit.
Still, there's a pain in my heart from thinking that a friendship that we both worked so hard to build could be destroyed in as quickly as one day...and not by either of us.
Oh well. It's a small price to pay to be happy for the rest of my life with Peter. I should focus on my relationship, because that's my future. Caleb will just have to return to my past...where he belongs.
The following weekend, Peter takes me to a private art exhibit. He's dressed to the nines in a navy pinstripe suit, and I'm his underwhelming arm candy in a white blouse and black floral skirt. Most of the other women around us are donning gowns fit for the Oscars. I feel like Where's Waldo. Which one doesn't belong?
We stroll arm in arm and Peter stops in front of every painting to give his assessment and ask my opinion. I don't have much to say about each piece. Some are masterfully done while others look like they could have been whipped out in an hour with a few haphazard strokes of paint on a canvas. While I like looking at art, it's never really been my thing. Not to the degree that these people are soaking it all in.
The faces around me look deep in thought as they marvel at each painting and sculpture as if they're the most fascinating things on the face of the planet. To be honest, if it weren't for having Peter by my side, I would be bored to tears.
“It's crazy to think of how many hours are put into all of this,” he says in wonder.
“Yeah.” I nod, thinking again about how some of these paintings look like a five year old would have done a better job. I'm out of my element, though, so the best thing I can do is nod and agree.
“See that man over there.” Peter points to a tall older gentleman. “Do you recognize him?”
I shake my head, embarrassed that I don't recognize him, because he's obviously someone important.
“That's the mayor,” he whispers to me.
Oh God. Do I ever look like an idiot now? I don't even know the mayor of the city I live in.
“And her.” Peter redirects his attention to a woman in a stunning red dress. “She's a newscaster for Channel 5. And that guy—”
“Lots of famous people. I get it,” I say before I can stop myself.
I know it's not intentional—Peter is just trying to wow me—but hearing about all of the wealthy and important people around us is making me feel inferior and even more uncomfortable. In truth, I don't know why I'm even here. This place is not me at all.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Peter asks finally, probably taking notice of my closed up body language. Any time I'm not
holding his hand, I have my arms wrapped around myself as if to shield me from all of this unfamiliar splendor.
“Yes.” I smile.
Why did I just lie? I'm not enjoying this at all. But I don't want to make him feel bad or want to leave. This is a private event. Lord only knows how much he paid to get us in. I dare not rob him of the experience just because I'm uncomfortable.
Peter takes in a deep breath. “These are the kinds of things I want to do with you. I want to share all of the finest things in life with you, and it starts right here.”
“I'd like that.” Wouldn't I? Isn't this what I've always wanted?
I clawed my way out of the trenches to be with this man who basks in wealth and luxury. If I truly want to be with him, then I need to be able to adapt to his world—a world that I've only ever seen in movies until now. A world that I always thought I wanted to be a part of to spite my shitty, poor childhood.
“Are you hungry? I made us a reservation at a restaurant I've been dying to take you to.” He beams at me with excitement.
Hungry. Yes. That will get us out of here faster, and I won't have to feel so much guilt for wanting to go. We've already been here for over an hour anyway. We've seen it all. There's nothing left to do but stand around and people watch.
“Food would be good.” I nod, just happy to be leaving.
Peter drives us to a restaurant downtown. It's a lot smaller inside than I thought it would be, and the patrons seem just as pretentious as the people at the art gallery. All of their noses are turned up as they speak. Well, not literally, but it sure feels like it. I can tell that I'm still among the wealthy—that once again, I don't belong.
I don't even get to look at the menu. That alone irks me. Peter tells the waitress something in French before she disappears and returns a few minutes later with a bottle of champagne.
“You're going to love this,” Peter tells me as the waitress fills our champagne flutes.
I smile at him politely before taking a sip. The liquid inside feels like bubbly acid. There's a bitterness to the champagne that seems to suck all of the moisture out of my mouth.
“It's good.” Another lie. He was gazing at me too expectantly to say otherwise.
The first course comes on a special plate that looks like a perfect upside down sunny side up egg. The actual food on the plate looks like it came out of an Easy Bake Oven, the portion is so small. What's worse is I have no idea what it is. It looks like a gray cream sauce. Could be a soup. Could be something special beneath.
The waitress explains the dish to us in words so big and French that I don't understand half of what she's saying. It's not until she walks away that I dare to ask Peter, “So what is it?”
He chuckles at me, which makes me feel kind of stupid. “It's a deconstructed oysters rockefeller. Instead of serving it on a shell, they put it on top of a truffle.”
A truffle? Oh God, no wonder the people around us look like they wipe their asses with wads of cash. If this is just the appetizer...
It was just the appetizer. One of many. In the span of nearly four hours, course after course is brought to our table. All of them are tiny. By the time we're three in, I don't think I'll ever get full. On course number ten, I'm wishing they'd just end.
The food is amazing—the best dining experience of my life—but I quickly become tired of having to ask Peter to recite what the waitress tells us about each course in English, so eventually I stop and it becomes a mystery game of what am I putting in my mouth.
Out of a total of fifteen courses, there's only one I don't enjoy. And when a waitress hears me telling Peter that I'm not fond of it, they promptly bring me something else. This restaurant definitely gets five stars for service.
“I should go to the bathroom before we leave,” Peter tells me as he places his napkin on top of the table to stand.
No sooner than he disappears into the restroom does the waitress bring the bill. I decide that I should pay it, since he's paid for all of our other dates up to this point. It would be a nice surprise for him and the least I can do.
I pull my credit card out of my wallet and pick up the booklet to see what this delicious meal of tiny courses is going to cost me. When my eyes scan across the total, I gasp so loudly that half of the restaurant turns to look at me.
“Six hundred dollars,” I mouth the amount but don't actually speak it. “That's fucking ridiculous.”
I set the bill down facing Peter's side of the table and clasp my hand over my mouth, hoping no one saw the curse word on my lips. I get a few disapproving glances before the people around us go back to their own dining experience. I don't know any of these people and I already can't stand them. Why couldn't we have gone somewhere normal—someplace that I could afford.
I shove my card back into my wallet before Peter has a chance to emerge from the bathroom. If I pay for this meal, I'll be in the negative for the rest of the month.
Peter returns to our table and picks up the bill, looking it over like it's nothing before he hands the booklet with his credit card to the waitress.
“Did you enjoy the food?” he asks as we wait for her to bring back the receipt.
“It was fabulous.” That was not a lie. Best meal I've ever had, though I'm not sure it was worth the guilt I'm feeling. I realize I've been a crabby bitch all night, but at least I was able to hold it all in. Peter would never be able to tell that all of this made me extremely uncomfortable. And I suppose that's all that matters.
“Are you ready to go?” Peter tucks his wallet into his pocket.
“Mhm.” I nod before standing to follow him out of the restaurant.
We walk hand in hand back to his car. He's all grins, but I'm still in shell shock from the price of the meal.
“Would you like to go back to my place?” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze to get my attention.
“Sure.” I smile at him.
What other choice do I have? This is the only way I can really pay him back.
I hate myself for thinking it. I know it's not true. He doesn't expect me to sleep with him just because he dropped mad money on me tonight. At least, I hope he doesn't expect it.
Besides, it's not like I don't want to. I do want to. I want to feel closer to him...because right now, I just feel disconnected. At the very least, having sex will create the oxytocin release that we need for enhanced bonding.
Jesus! Am I really thinking about sex so scientifically right now? What in the hell is wrong with me?
We get back to Peter's loft, and I sit on the sofa while he fetches us each a glass of water. I pull out my phone and scroll through to Caleb's number. I bet he's not taking his girlfriend to fancy events and dinners. They're probably going on normal dates. Dates where you don't have to get all dressed up and walk around stiffly. Places where you can laugh and have fun without worrying about what other people think of you. I bet they're eating normal portion sizes of food that don't cost a fortune. I should feel sorry for his girlfriend for not being able to experience these types of things with him.
Just to be a bitch, I start to type out a text message to him about everything that Peter and I did tonight. Knowing that he can't afford to take his girlfriend to something so fancy will probably make Caleb feel insufficient. He deserves it. He's a jerk for abandoning me.
But then I realize that he doesn't deserve to feel insufficient. Because he's not insufficient. He's one of the best guys I've ever known. He might not have all of the money in the world, but he has a heart of gold.
Even though I type it out, I can't force myself to send the text. The only reason I even wrote it is because I miss him. I want to send it so he'll be forced to think about me.
It's wrong. He's in a relationship and so am I. If I'm truly his friend, I should just leave it alone.
“Who are you texting?” Peter's voice comes out of left field, startling me.
I click the button to dim my phone so that he can't see. “It was my sister. She was having some guy t
rouble and needed advice.”
“Oh.” He sits beside me and offers me a glass of water. When I don't move to take it, he sets it on the coffee table. “You can finish your text.”
“It's not that important. She can wait.” I shake my head, sighing contentedly at the fact that I'm finally somewhere that I can be comfortable.
These are the moments I prefer with Peter, when we're alone and there's no one else in the world but the two of us. Gazing into his eyes, I can forget about everything that I didn't like about tonight. I think about his smile and his excitement from exposing me to new experiences. I should be cherishing all of these things. He's bringing me into his world because he truly cares about me. No. Because he loves me.
The next morning, Peter takes me out to breakfast and then drops me off in front of my apartment complex. I take the elevator up, thinking about how I feel a lot better than I did last night. The sex definitely helped to clear my head a bit. It still wasn't movie quality, but I felt the connection to him that I needed. I blush as I remember the way Peter pressed my palms into the bed as he writhed on top of me. His gorgeous brown eyes were hooded as I gazed up into them. There was some magic there.
The elevator door opens onto my floor, and I hear a bark that's distinctly Max. All thoughts of Peter disappear as I rush out of the elevator to see Caleb unlocking his apartment.
My heart pounds fiercely in my chest as I realize this is one of the very few opportunities I have to get his attention. Instead of calling his name and flailing, I do the one thing that I know will force him to speak to me. I crouch down and call Max's name.
The huskey's ears perk up. He turns to me with a shit-eating doggy grin. And then he lunges, effectively tearing the leash out of Caleb's hand to get to me.
“Max!” Caleb calls to him before letting out a loud groan.
I stand before Max can get to me, reaching down to rub his ears. He makes an adorable whining sound, and I can't help but bend over and give him a hug.
“You shouldn't have done that. You know how excitable he is,” Caleb chastises me.