My Bad Boy Doctor

8

Yes. No. I don't know.

On one hand, I really want to bring him upstairs and finish. On the other, I don't think this is a good idea. I'm not into one-night stands, and the last thing I need is for him to destroy my self-esteem the moment he's had his fun. I can't—I won't be another notch on his bedpost.

I peck him on the lips before climbing off his lap and grabbing my purse. Then I offer him a small smile. "I think it's best if we stop while we're ahead. Thank you for lunch."

"When will I see you again?"

His eyes are so hopeful, and I don't have it in me to say we're in completely different solar systems. Instead, I shrug. "We'll play it by ear. I had a good time."

That last part is genuine, but the muscles twitch in his cheeks like I've just crushed him with the classic, "it's not you, it's me," line. I don't know what to say though, and guilt washes through me for stealing his joy. I only wish I understood why he chose me. I'm the complete opposite of beautiful—I'm awkward and twiggy with more freckles than Raggedy Ann.

I don't say any of this out loud though. With a forced smile, I nod once and open the door. There's no sense in prolonging this, and I'd rather think back on this fondly before anyone gets hurt. "Take care, Blake."

Not giving him a chance to stop me, I head straight into the house, turning only before I close the storm gate. Blake is staring straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel as if his life depends on it. I wave, but he sighs and pulls out of the driveway without acknowledging me. My heart sinks even though I know I did the right thing. But if I did, why are my eyes watering and my chest aching as if he was the one to hurt me?

What's done is done. All I can do is move on as I close the door and go upstairs, not thinking about him or the kiss still lingering on my lips.

A week passes with no word from Blake. It shouldn't bother me; I made the decision to end things before they started, and he's taking the hint to respect my choice. The problem is that his broken expression haunts me every time I lie down to sleep, not understanding why I rejected him.

I don't even know him, but it hurts. There's this need burning inside me to apologize, even though he's probably moved on to someone else by now. For all I know, he isn't even that bothered over it.

The text cursor blinks back at me from my word document, and I sigh. I've been thinking about him again instead of writing, but it's impossible to get anything on the page. My phone sits beside me on the desk, urging me to pick it up.

Picking it up, I scroll through my contacts with my fingers hovering over his name. What do I say, "I'm sorry I was a bitch? I'm sorry that I have more insecurities than you do commitment issues?" I need to say something though before too much time passes. A week is already long enough to make things awkward.

'Hey. I'm sorry if I upset you. That was never my intention, I'm just horribly shy. Like...I dunno, I don't understand what you see in me?' I press the backspace key, erasing the last sentence. That makes me sound too pathetic. I try again with, 'I'd like to see you again if you're still interested.' Then I delete my words again, having gone from pathetic to desparate. The first two sentences will have to do; either he'll forgive me or he won't.