Rock Bottom (Dawson Family 6)

I look at Mike, waiting for him to say something along the lines of “I’ll be happy to meet them too” but all I get is radio silence.

“Want to go in the bedroom?” he asks suddenly.

“Uh, sure. That’s the only reason you wanted me to come over, wasn’t it?” I tease, poking at Mike.

“I wanted to talk to you too,” he starts and gets to his feet, pulling me up with him. “But I never turn down sex.”

“Well then.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Take me into your bedroom, kind sir.”I come out of the bathroom and get back into bed, cold from walking through the room naked. Pulling the comforter up to my chin, I snuggle closer to Mike.

“Can we talk now?” he asks as soon as I’m snugged up and comfy.

“Talk?” I push up on my elbows. Not again… “Uh, sure. About what?”

“I’ve really liked the time we’ve spent together, Rory.”

My throat is suddenly thick and my heart pounds in my chest. He’s breaking up with me? Now? After we just had sex?

“But I’m not ready for something serious. And I know you…you want more. Meeting your family…I’m just not there yet. I want to travel and devote more time to my music.”

His words echo in my head.

Travel?

He considers that plucking he does on his guitar music?

All I asked was for him to come to dinner, not give me a promise ring before dessert.

“You couldn’t have told me this before I got into bed with you?”

He shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if you’d sleep with me after I told you.”

The world feels like it’s spinning, and while I can’t say I was in love with Mike, I enjoyed being with him.

Though now it just feels like a waste of six months. I gave so much to Mike. I watched him play at every shitty bar in the county, staying out late when I had an early shift the next morning. I was supportive. A good girlfriend. Way better than he deserved.

“You’re a manipulative jerk,” I spit.

“Don’t be like that, Rory.”

I get out of bed, angrily shoving a pillow out of the way as I search for my clothes. I force my feet into my underwear and yank them up.

“And we can still do this. I know you’re not a one-night-stand kind of girl,” he adds quickly. “So think of it more as friends with benefits. Nothing has to change, really.”

“That would be tempting,” I say, and I angrily pull my scrub top over my head, not bothering with my bra. “If I enjoyed having sex with you.”

Mike gasps.

“That’s right. I faked it almost every time just to get it over with.” It’s only half true, though I feel like I had to really work for those few times I did come during sex. I can’t blame him entirely, though, as much as I want to right now. I’m one of those lucky women who needs a bit more stimulation to orgasm. But I’m pissed and my petty side is coming out.

I grab my pants and my bra, balling them up as I stomp out of the room. Mike calls after me, but I’m too busy pushing my feet into my shoes to give him the time of day. I throw my coat on, grab my purse, and storm out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

“Ah, hello, Rory, dear,” Mrs. McMillan calls from the sidewalk. She was my high school science teacher, the mother of Amber McMillan who teased me relentlessly in high school, and is now walking down the snow-covered sidewalk, arm linked through Mr. McMillan’s, who’s my banker.

Their chocolate lab lets out an excited yip, and normally I’d be all over crouching down to pet Godiva, but I’m not wearing any pants.

Can today get any worse?

“Mom, wait up!” Amber jogs to catch up, blonde hair flowing behind her, looking like she just jumped off a Northface ad in a magazine.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Snow crunches under Amber’s boots and comes to a stop next to her parents, taking Godiva’s leash from her dad.

“Rory. Wow, it’s been a while.” She bats her lash extensions and flicks her eyes to my bare legs.

“Hi,” I say and try to nonchalantly pull my coat closed. Maybe it looks like I’m wearing a dress.

A short dress.

And Crocs.

Dammit.

“Nice, uh, evening,” I say, feeling my cheeks turn the same cherry red as my nail polish.

“It’s a little chilly.” She flips her hair behind her shoulder, and I hate her for looking so good in a hat. “How have you been? It’s been, gosh, years.”

“Really good.”

Mrs. McMillan looks at my feet. Snow is coming through the little holes in my shoes and my feet are freezing. Please think I’m wearing a dress… She blinks a few times and takes a step forward. “Tell your mother I said hello.”