“Found my manners,” he asked in a mocking tone. “Are you serious? Of course you’re serious because your mind is like a fucking child,” he grumbled to himself and tossed the menu on the table. “I wanted to wait until after the meal but we might as well do this now.”
I didn’t like his tone. It was final. Definitely. Chills went down my spine as I turned back to him, my legs suddenly filled with cement. “Do what?”
“This. Us,” he spat at me. “I’m done.”
“You’re done…with us?” My heart raced and the only thing I could hear was the sound of my blood rushing through my veins.
“Yeah Olive, I’m done. With this and with you.” I wanted to ask the most instinctive question, why, but Wyatt’s lips were still moving. “Always going on and on about love and romance as if you know a goddamn thing about keeping a man happy.”
I looked around Pepino’s and noticed that the early lunch crowd had forgotten their meals in favor of the show. “Happy? Oh I’m sorry Wyatt, that I didn’t want to suck you off in the bathroom of The Mayflower like I was a whore rather than your girlfriend. Please excuse me for not thinking about you and your cock, which I hadn’t seen for two weeks prior.” I was seething now. “If we’re talking about not being pleased, let’s talk about the last time you were around when I had an orgasm!” A few gasps and chuckles sounded and I felt the blush rise up my face as I realized what I’d just said. “Crap! I’m not doing this with you!”
“Yeah, run away Olive, like the little girl you are. A frigid little girl!” He shouted the words almost as if he was drunk. “Frigid!”
“Frigid,” I laughed. “The insult flung around by men who refuse to learn how to please a woman.”
“Amen, sister!”
I flashed a smile at the woman who shouted in solidarity and left the restaurant with my head held high. The sun in Pilgrim, Texas shone bright and happy, almost as if it was mocking my sour mood as I stomped angrily down the street.
Three years down the drain. Wasted. All those missed dates and dinners that I smiled through while I made excuses for him. All of his stupid, snide remarks that I pretended not to hear or understand. The complaints about the sex, the lack of adventure in our sex life, which admittedly was more my hang up than his, but it’s hard to get excited about anything new when it just turns out to be the same old, unsatisfying thing. “Stupid, damn man!”
Why, oh why did I do this to myself? The question was a useless one and I knew that, but it was the only thing I could think of, why hadn’t I listened to Eva and Sophie? Or even Mara? They’d all told me, on countless occasions, just how terrible they believed Wyatt to be and I didn’t want to hear it.
Couldn’t bear to hear it because I loved him so much, or maybe because I just wanted it to work out with him so badly. I had it all planned out. A six month engagement after three years together wasn’t too excessive and it gave us plenty of time to plan thee wedding of the century. Then a year or so later we’d buy our first home, readying it for the arrival of our first of three children. We’d eventually have a vacation home, maybe in Myrtle Beach or someplace else family oriented. We were gonna have it all, the whole nine yards as the boys say.
And now I had nothing.
No, I had less than nothing now. No fiancé, no boyfriend, no future.
Just me and my business. The business of love and marriage.
“What a joke!” I locked myself in the car and waited for the tears to come but after five minutes my eyes were still as dry as the Chihuahuan Desert. “Dammit, I can’t even cry over you because you were so terrible!” And thought only made me feel worse for putting up with him for three whole years and planning for forever with him.
I was, if not crazy, then an idiot for sure.
And that needed to change soon, so instead of bothering Eva who probably had plans with Oliver after work, or Sophie who would be busy with Stone or just plain busy. They had their own lives and this was something I could deal with. On my own.
I went home instead of going back to the office, got all dolled up and decided to go out. Prove to myself and to my ex-boyfriend, that I wasn’t frigid.
No, I was red hot. At least I would be, when I went out.
On the prowl.Liam“Hey Liam, it’s your old man!” My father’s deep, smoke roughened voice sounded down the line, happy as he always was.