Page 151 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

When I return to the bedroom, I stop at the end of the bed and debate what I should be doing. Leaving should be easy. It’s something I’ve done many times before. He’s walked out my door just the same, if not more.So why is my heart not as sure as my head this time?

I reach down for my dress and slip it on, zipping up the back.

Jackson St. James and I are a disaster in the making.

As different as we are, we’re too alike when it comes to relationships. We burn them to the ground before they have a chance to flicker into a flame. I put one shoe on and then lean down to put on the other.

Jackson will hate me.

But he’ll thank me one day for leaving.

I’m not emotionally built like either of my friends—Tealey, the hopeless romantic, or Cammie, the woman born to be a mother.

I take one last look at the man who opened his heart to me and, in the process, opened mine before walking to the door. I stop with my back to him.

Why am I hesitating?

Why am I fighting this?

I was raised by two dysfunctional people in the Hollywood Hills who still can’t figure out their own lives, even after being divorced from each other for fifteen years. Staying goes against my inherited nature.

They’ve had other marriages between them and countless affairs. Breakups, makeups, and a few days of being single amongst the ruins of their relationships. And their life choices have spilled down on me.

Other than my friends, I’ve never had anyone I could count on. Cam and Teals taught me the meaning of true friendship, but why continue to pretend I’m capable of ever opening my heart again when it comes to men? I’m not, especially not at this point in my life.

I already have enough trouble and don’t need to add to the pile. I’m saving him from a disaster down the road.

I look at him, sleeping so soundly, his hair growing darker with the years, his jaw that tenses during sex is relaxed. He’s so handsome that sometimes I have to look away, not feeling worthy of the way he looks at me like I’m not as damaged.

Sex with Jackson is incredible, but why’d we have to get our feelings involved?

I take a deep, staggering breath and make my way from the bedroom through his apartment, snapping up my clutch from the table near the door. There’s no reason I should stay, but a million reasons why I should go, including a package waiting for me at home.

Leave now.Get out before I’m in too deep and drag him down with me.

He didn’t act drunk, but I’m going to chalk up this night and the emotions we tangled ourselves up in and blame it on the alcohol and holiday.

Jackson’s friendship is worth protecting, even from myself, because I couldn’t stop myself from falling for him.

Falling?

No.That’s not possible.

This is too much to think about at six in the morning.

It will be best if I just start that walk home now to get it over with. After all, there is no shame in my heel game. And these red soles are still stunning even at this hour.

I open the door and head for the elevator, also not ashamed of leaving at sunrise.Why would I be?I have needs and desires, and I enjoy feeling pleasure. Weaker men tell me I fuck like a man because I can walk away right after. What can I say? It’s a specialty of mine.Clearly.But if their egos are too fragile, then we have no business tangling in the sheets either.

Cutting through the lobby straight to the sidewalk to call a cab, I raise my arm into the air. I think cabbies know this time of hour is golden for getting low-key fares. One pulls to the curb, and I hop in, giving the driver my address.

As the cab drives away, I don’t bother looking back, but my chest twists in doubt. Maybe I shouldn’t have left while he wassleeping.What’s he going to think when he wakes up?Or maybe it won’t matter because it usually doesn’t.

Last night mattered.

It did to me.

I’m sure it did to him.

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