“H-Hello?” I called out hesitantly. It would have been funny if I could stop shaking. What was I expecting? The intruder to answer me with a smile and wave? That I'd lucked out and scored a criminal with manners?
There was no reply and I took a step back, fumbling for my phone.
I hitched my breath as the light switch in the kitchen was flipped, flooding the darkness with a fluorescent glow. My fear dissolved instantly when I saw his face.
Not the one guy who could break into my house and get away with it because he'd already broken into my heart.
Not Logan.
The guy who'd shattered my heart was there instead, grinning like a fool, holding another bouquet.
Jason.
“Surprise!”
I gritted my teeth and weighed out my options. I could turn on my heels, get back in my car, and avoid whatever this thing he had going on was altogether. I could take the phone in my hand and dial 911 since only my name was on the lease and he was technically breaking and entering.
Or I could take the phone in my head and throw it at his head.
I gripped the doorknob to Door Number Three as I stepped inside and saw that he'd prepared a dinner very similar to the one I'd set up for him the night we'd broken up. Chicken Alfredo, salad, bread, even a bottle of white wine. It would have been romantic if I wasn't being assaulted by memories of how disastrous that meal had been—and the fact that I'd prepared it because it was his favorite. Even now, when he was trying to win me back, he couldn't be bothered to make my favorite meal. It was, and had always been, all about Jason.
I turned my back to him, closing the door and deciding against assaulting him with my cell phone. He wasn't worth the trouble. I repeated that until I calmed down and could see other colors in the spectrum besides red.
I faced my ex boyfriend. It had been two weeks since I'd seen him, but it felt like a lifetime. The blond hair that used to be so coifed and sexy seemed stiff and filled with product. His signature polo and khaki shorts felt like a uniform. Even the playful smirk grated my nerves. All of it seemed fake, every aspect of him engineered to some nefarious end. I looked into the blue eyes that used to make my heart fly right out of my chest and I didn't feel a damn thing. Well, that wasn't exactly true. As he came toward me, holding those flowers like a shield, the red bled all over everything. The ones he'd sent to the office were already too much...this felt like a violation. How dare he let himself into my apartment and cook and pretend he hadn't ripped my heart out of my chest?
He stopped a few feet away from me, noting my erratic breathing and the fire that burned in my gaze. His smile withered and turned into ash on his lips.
“I hope it's okay that I'm here,” he said, the confidence in his voice waning. He gave me a peevish smile that he hid away quickly. “I guess I didn't give you much choice, huh?”
I locked my jaw. “No, you didn't.”
“My bad.” He put the bouquet on the counter, maintaining his distance. Noticing that his surprise wasn't packing the punch he thought it would, he switched tactics, trying flattery. “You look great.”
I swatted it away. “I look like shit.” It was the truth. My blouse was an untucked, wrinkled mess, my hair hung in wild strands, trying to escape the bun I'd pulled it into this morning. My makeup was a smeared mess from all the crying I'd done. Telling me I looked great when I clearly looked like I'd been put through the ringer was worst than a lie. It was insulting.
“Well, I think you look great.”
“Well, we're not together anymore,” I said tersely. “What you think doesn't matter much.”
He looked wounded, then the playfulness returned to his azure colored eyes as he took a step toward me. “You're pissed off. That means you still care about me enough to be angry.” When I didn't say a word, he shrugged a Lacoste clad shoulder. “I'll take whatever I can get, Mel.”
I wanted to yell that I'd almost committed assault via iPhone and what he could get was the hell out of my apartment, but I didn't want to encourage him. He was stubborn as a mule—if he convinced himself that my anger was misplaced affection, there would be no unconvincing him. So I drew a deep breath and pulled it close, folding my disgust until it was small enough that I could tuck it from view, leaving nothing but apathy.
I chose my words very carefully and delivered them precisely and without emotion. “What are you doing here, Jason?”
He cocked his head at the table, his eyes all but saying 'duh'. “I made you dinner. Your favorites—”
“Those are your favorites,” I cut in, my tone measured even though my heart ached when I realized that this guy, someone I thought was one of my best friends, who I thought was 'the' guy, didn't even know that my favorite meal was a med rare burger with sweet potato fries. I wasn't expecting him to cook it, hell, even when we were together, I did most of the cooking, but the least he could do was get it right.
He didn't know me—not really. Gazing into his flabbergasted face as he struggled to pull my favorite meal out of his ass, I realized how wrong I'd been about us from the start. The whispers of doubts were screams now. Even if all Logan could offer me was everything up to 'I love you', it was still more fulfilling than the countless, empty times Jason had said those words to me.
Jason went all in, rushing toward me, wrapping his arms around my body. “God, I've missed you.”
My arms dangled at my side until he started stroking my back. I pushed him away, my eyes narrowed. “You don't get to do that. How about you go comfort her?” There was the anger, wrapped around the final word. Choking it.
He tried to cradle my face, but I wasn't having it. His words ran in one ear and out the other. “She means nothing, Mel. You're the one I want. You're the one I need.” His voice was soft, meant to be a caress but it raked over me like sandpaper. “I made a terrible mistake. I never should have left.”
His hands were back around my waist. His hold was like iron, chained to my feet and dragging me into the darkness like an anchor. “No, your mistake was—” I didn't finish, because he forced his mouth against mine, kissing me so hard that I swore I could taste blood. The aggression, the passion I'd begged him for was finally there—but it was too late. My heart, my body, belonged to someone else.
I shoved him away from me, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Don't touch me again.” He reached for me, testing me, and I slapped his hand away, my voice low and threatening. No, not a threat. A promise that if he tried to force me to kiss him, touch him, or forgive him, I'd show him just what a mistake coming here truly was.