WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

Jonathan, in turn, smiles like I made his whole day. “Great, then maybe we can go somewhere for a drink. Talk….”

“Drinks, um…” I think of Waylon waiting for me to get home upstairs. “Actually, I already have plans tonight.”

Jonathan’s smile wobbles a bit. “Okay, what’s your schedule like? I’m free any night this week.”

The thought of leaving Waylon in my apartment alone while I go on a date with Jonathan twists my stomach with nausea. “Actually, I’m busy all this week….”

Jonathan’s smile completely fades. “Oh, I get it. I asked for a pause, and now you’re punishing me.”

“You asked for a pause and insinuated I wasn’t good enough to meet your parents,” I corrected. “And I’m not trying to punish you.”

“Then what is this busy stuff?” he asks with an annoyed look. “You were never too busy to see me before.”

“We weren’t on a pause before,” I answer, not just because of Waylon but because Jonathan really didn’t seem to have a clue how much I bent over backward to fit into his life before.

I changed shifts and canceled previously made plans to be with him.

I hadn’t minded back then. Anything to continue the relationship with the dreamy neuro resident.

“Well, I know the month isn’t up, but I think it’s time for this pause of ours to be over.”

I blink. Funny, it had felt excruciating when Jonathan first suggested we take a break. But so many confusing things have happened since I saw him last. Suddenly, I don’t know how to feel about him wanting to hit play again before our month is up.

“Let me think about that,” I say.

“Really?” Jonathan frowns at me. “You have to think about it? I assumed you'd be as happy as I am to resume things as they were before.”

His assumption makes me squint at him. Was Jonathan always this entitled? Did I just miss it before when I dreamed about getting married and starting a family in the suburbs with him?

“Yes, I really have to think about it,” I answer, irritation creeping into my voice. “Did you expect me to fall at your feet just because you deigned to end our pause?”

From the way he jerks his chin back, I can tell that was exactly how he expected me to respond.

But he quickly smooths the confused look off of his face. “Listen, I get it, Mimi. I hurt you, and I couldn’t be more sorry about that. But I really do want to make this work with you. And my parents will be in town again next month. They’re making a special trip because I asked them to come back here to meet you.”

A little over a week ago, I would have been overjoyed to hear this. But tonight, I find myself asking, “Why would you do that when we’re on a pause?”

“Because I knew that pause was only temporary.” He steps closer, and his expensive cologne fills my nose as he explains, “I just needed to think. And sure, I made that coffee date with Lyndsey, but it wasn’t anything serious. I always knew I’d come back to you in the end.”

He cups my shoulders. “I know the sexual part of our relationship hasn’t progressed as far as either of us would like. But what we have…it’s real. It’s what I want.”

Jonathan lowers his head and pushes in for the kiss.

But his lips end up grazing my hairline when I drop my head and ask, “What about what I want?”

I keep my eyes on our feet as I ask him this question—his are shod in wingtips and I’m wearing yellow Crocs. I’ll have to give them up when winter comes through, and it starts snowing.

A few beats of uncomfortable silence. Then Jonathan asks, “What do you want? Just tell me, and I’ll see if I can do it for you.”

“No, that’s not what I mean—”

I break off, frustrated because I don’t know what to say. Or how I should feel about Jonathan’s sudden change of heart or my inability to immediately fall in line as I would have just a few days ago.

“I just need some time to think,” I tell both Jonathan and myself. “I’ll…I’ll see you later.”

I rush away before he can argue with me anymore.

And pretend I don’t hear him call out, “How much longer?” as I duck inside my apartment building.

Even though the answer to his question immediately rises to my head, disturbing in its immediacy. Three more days.

Three more days. Because that’s how long I was planning to make Waylon stay before clearing him to return to Iowa.

That three more days rings loud in my head as I walk up the stairs to my third-floor apartment and walk through my front door a few minutes later with a weird mixture of excitement, fear, and relief churning my stomach.