"Let's go out," Miranda suggesting, beaming at me too late in my shift. "I want to thank you properly for helping me. I couldn't have done it without your help."
They'd been dating once again now. She didn't love him. I knew she didn't.
"No, thank you," I rejected, feeling absolutely awful nowadays. Jason only comes over late in the night, sleeps, and then leaves early the next morning so he didn't have to speak to me or see me. I'm sure he was doing it because I got so upset with him but it didn't make me feel any better about the situation.
"Oh, come on," she begged. "Please?"
Nowadays, when I saw either one of them I was on the brink of tears. I glanced past her, seeing Erica stand a few feet in front of the elevator, looking at me worriedly. I shook my head slowly to her, watching as she hesitantly entered the elevator and disappeared from sight. I looked back at Miranda, flashing her a weak smile. "Okay, fine. I can't stay out too late."
She smiled brightly. "I'll drive."
. . .
"It's been going so good. I think we really needed that break," she commented, glowing with pure happiness meanwhile a cloud of misery hung over my head as I drowned myself in beer. "We've grown closer, we're not so involved physically but now we're trying to get to know each other. I love him."
She didn't but I nodded along, smiling every now and then. "I feel like he's the one, he's so great," she said longingly. I wanted to vomit or cry, one of the two. I rolled my eyes a few times, hardly speaking a word since we had gotten to the bar. "I'm thinking of taking him to this new Italian restaurant, they're famous for their Alfredo."
"He doesn't like Alfredo," I told her, staring down at the golden beer swirling in my cup. "He's picky about his spaghetti as well, I would avoid Italian restaurants."
"Really?" she was shocked which wasn't surprising, she didn't know anything about him. "Maybe a fish place."
"He doesn't like fish," I chimed in again, sighing heavily. "He likes sushi, but not fish." That was one of the few qualities we had in common. "He likes steak, sub-sandwiches, chicken, wings; all that other stuff. The things he doesn't like are Alfredo, fish, meatloaf, and he absolutely despises barbecue."
She blinked a few times, her eyes widening. "I just took him to a barbecue place last week," she said, placing a hand over her mouth. "No wonder he hardly ate anything."
I felt bad for her. She knew nothing about him yet she was trying so hard. I was so confused as to why she was trying so hard. It was so hard watching this and it was even harder that she was asking me for help.
"If you haven't taken him for steak, I'd recommend Romero's," I told her. "It's his favorite place." I had learned that was his favorite place when we went there, for business, and I had gone back a few times by myself. It was owned by his uncle and he loved his uncle. Although, he never talked about him.
She nodded along, flashing me a smile. "Thanks!"
If someone told me a few months back that this girl in front of me was my bully, I wouldn't believe them. She acted nothing like she did before. When she approached me and asked for my help, it was a rough start, but now, now she acts so cheery and happy it's almost frightening. I nodded to her, ordering another beer. I wanted to forget everything about this night.
"Don't you think we're just so cute together?" she exasperated, a far-off look in her eyes. "I can't believe it, he's quite the catch, don't you think? He's so charming, and definitely so handsome."
There she went again, only pointing out appearances. Had they really been trying to get to know each other? If they were, she was failing at learning anything about him. It almost seemed too good to be true, to actually believe that maybe he'd return the same feelings towards me. I was so wrong to believe it, so naive.
"What have you learned about him?" I found myself asking, growing incredibly impatient with her cheesy remarks.
"Oh, well, he is a good kisser. He's so charming, he let's me talk about my day, he's a very good listener," she finished, smiling still as if she had just recited the complete recipe it took to create a man like Jason.
"That's it?" I scoffed.
"Well, excuse me," she said offended by my remark. "I just can't put words together to describe him."
I fought back the urge to scoff again and just rolled my eyes.
"Why can't you just be happy for me? What the hell is your deal?"
And here she was. Now this, this was the Miranda I recognized. "You're fooling him and you're fooling yourself," I said, pointing a finger at her. "Look at you, you can't even try and fake it without your true colors showing through."
"Can't you just get over your anger towards me, already? Abilon is mine, quit trying to ruin it," she sneered.
A tiny button in my mind clicked and the light bulb went off. He didn't tell her his real name. Avery was shocked that he even told me his real name. Why didn't he tell Miranda when they're together?
"I'm sorry, Miranda, but he's far from yours," I snapped back, gulping down the last of my beer. "You don't know anything about him. You only know the things I told you and the things you've seen. You don't know who he is."
"Of course I do!" she screeched, slamming her fist down on the table.
"Oh, yeah?" I said, chuckling wickedly. "Then you know that he loves kids? That he loves taking walks at midnight, that he takes his job seriously? Maybe, you also knew that he can't sleep at night. Oh, yeah, you probably also knew that he is stubborn and will never admit when he's lost or when he's defeated by sleep-deprivation or sickness?" I was livid now, I was going off on her. "You probably knew that he is obsessed with waffles. That he hates being cold, that he gets grumpy when he doesn't get coffee in the morning? But, you knew all of that, right? You knew he's actually a beautiful person, he acts like a badass but he'd never hurt a fly. He respects his parents, even though they treat him like garbage, and he's deeply passionate over every single car he owns," she was staring at me wide-eyed, searching her memory for any type of give-away to all of this but she knew I was right. "You don't love him, Miranda, you love what you see." I stood, grabbed my purse and looked at her long and hard. "Thanks for the beer, Miranda."
She stood up, her head down, her fists clenched at her sides. "Y-You...you love him?"
My heart nearly stopped. God, I did. I loved him. "I do," I said aloud.
"You...you still helped me even though you love him?" she choked out. "Why--why would you do that?"
"Because someone like you deserves him more than someone like me," I told her, looking at her sadly. "It's up to you what you'll do, Miranda."
With that said, I exited the bar and sighed heavily, realizing I had come with her. I began walking myself home, taking it slow to think long and hard. I knew so many things about him. How did I get myself into this? How did this even happen? How did I end up falling so hard for a man so far from my reach?
After walking for almost an hour I made it to my home, my feet bleeding from the blisters I had from the heels I wore. When I stepped inside I kicked them off instantly and limped to the kitchen, setting my purse on the counter and finding the first-aid kit I had tucked away in the cabinets. I sat on the edge of the counter, wincing as I began to clean the plethora of blisters on my feet.
"What happened?" I nearly fell off the counter at the sudden sound of his voice. I didn't turn to face him but I new he was coming closer. He stood so close now, right in front of me, there was no way I'd be able to run off, not with him trapping me like this.
"It's just a few blisters," I told him quickly, trying to scoot away. I didn't know where I just wanted to be away. "No big deal, really."
"It's two in the morning," he said, causing me to lift my gaze up to him. "Did you just get home?"
He spoke as if this was his home too. My heart fluttered and I shut my eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I did."
"Where were you?"
"Why do you need to know?" I snapped, glancing up at him. He raised a brow at me, his hands on the counter on either side of me, truly trapping me. Even with me sitting on the counter like this, he was towering over me. I sighed in defeat. "I was out drinking with your lovely girlfriend."
"We aren't dating."
My eyes widened a bit. "Excuse me?"
"We aren't dating. We went on two dates, after the last one I told her I didn't want to be with her."
"What?"
"We," he began, leaning so close to me my breath hitched. "Aren't," he was inches from my face and I involuntarily shut my eyes. "Dating," I could feel his breath on my lips but, in that instant, his body heat was gone and my eyes flew open. He was leaning down, level to my feet. He had successfully retrieved the first-aid kit and not a kiss, although disappointing.
"Don't," I said quickly, swinging my foot away from his grasp. "It's fine. I can do it."
He said nothing, just grabbed my ankle, forcing me to stay still. He was gentle with his movements, he dabbed lightly with a alcohol-wipe at the open blisters, freezing every time I winced. "Does it hurt?" he asked, looking up at me. This was the fantasy I dreamed of everyday, a man kneeling at my feet. Although, this definitely was not the right time to be thinking about this.
I shook my head, unable to form coherent words. He continued, not realizing how torturous his feather-like touches were. He was able to clean the cuts and blisters in no time, ending the moment of bliss too quick for my liking. He stood up to his full height, stepping closer to me than ever before, standing in between my legs. My cheeks flared and I looked up at him, gulping audibly.
He stared at me, a look in his eyes I'd never seen before. His eyes looked brighter up close and oh so beautiful. He leaned down, his hands gently grazing my arms.
"Are you drunk?"
"Not nearly as much as I should be," I admitted out loud, hoping that he'd just close the small gap between our lips.
He chuckled at my remark, his hand trailing up and down my neck. I couldn't stand it. I was almost getting lost but my mind was clear enough for me to question this.
"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, breathing heavily.
"Doing what?"
My hand went to his chest to try and push him away but I couldn't even push him. It just rested on his chest. "Stop it," I said, although it didn't sound convincing.
"Do you really want me to?" his lips were so close now and I could hardly breathe anymore.
"Jason," I said sternly, forcing myself out of my trance and finally pushing him away, gently, just to give us some space between our lips. "I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not a woman who just goes around kissing men like nothing."
"You're not just any woman to me, Elizabeth," a pleasurable shiver ran down my spine and I ignored the sudden twist in my lower gut.
Much to my disappointment he stepped away and out from between my legs, standing a few feet before me, looking me up and down.
"You were wrong," he began, taking a shaky breath in. "I don't prefer slim women, or supermodels," he said, those green eyes looking at me intently. "I prefer thick women."
And I was sure my underwear would have to be replaced once I got to my room. Never once has a man effected me this much with just his words. I fought the urge to gasp.
"You're lucky I'm a gentleman," he began, stepping towards me again, his lips centimeters from mine. His lips brushed mine for a second and he stepped away, moving down the hall and entering the spare room.
I sat there for a moment, completely dumbfounded and burning hot.
What the hell just happened?