Page 50 of The Ex Effect
I lobbed the words softly like a feather and yet they carried the weight of a boulder.
And there it was. Neither of us regretted our decision. And there wasn’t much more I could do with that. Did I regret the way things ended with Frankie? Yes. But regrets only take you so far. And Frankie was truthful and honest, and I needed to hear it.
Frankie’s gaze focused on the couch cushion between us, and her thumb grazed the material. “It took me years to get over you.”
Dammit. God, I didn’t want to hear this and I also did, andit hurt as much as it felt good. There was no use in playing the “what if” game at this point in our life. We both made the best decision for ourselves, and neither of us regretted our choices. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think I ever fully got over you.”
Frankie stared hard at me, her eyes unmoving and focused. They dropped, slowly, looked at my lips, back to my eyes, then back to my mouth. She inched forward and closed the gap between us. She pressed her mouth into me, softly at first. I jerked only for a moment from the shock of the touch. When Frankie pulled back, I moved in, pressing my lips back into Frankie, the sweetness of the grapes and lemonade dancing across my lips, my tongue. God, this was so familiar and unfamiliar and heavenly.
Frankie cupped my neck, her thumbs swiping my cheeks, firm and sturdy, yet delicate somehow, and my breath hitched. She parted my lips with her tongue. My heartbeat kicked up again, thudded in my chest, in my throat, and my body started tingling. I grabbed Frankie around the waist, held her tight, my mouth moving against hers, when Frankie stopped.
It was like a Band-Aid was ripped off, the worst kind, and I immediately wanted Frankie’s mouth back on mine.
“Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry, I don’t… I can’t believe I did that.” Frankie leaped off the couch and dragged her hands down her face. She grabbed her keys from the coffee table and rushed to the door.
Please don’t go. “Wait, no, it’s fine. It’s good.” I hopped off the couch and rushed to Frankie. I gripped her forearm before she reached the door handle. When Frankie turned the knob, I squeezed tighter. “Please…I.”God, just do it. Be vulnerable. Tell her how I feel.I lifted my chin, begging to have Frankie’s lips against mine. “I really don’t want you to go.”
Frankie looked like she was going to break down. Her dark eyes widened, a look of regret washed over her face. Thesaddest, heartbreaking half smile appeared. She stroked my cheek with her thumb. “I really don’t want to go, either. Which is exactly why I need to.”
And even though I hated it, I knew Frankie was right. When the motorcycle kicked on, and faded into the distance, I flopped myself on the couch and cried.
TWENTY-THREE
FRANKIE
The tingling sensation of Morgan’s mouth on mine lingered long after I returned home. I brushed my fingertip across my lip, picturing her warm mouth on mine.Fuck.What in the hell was I thinking? Stupid, stupid, stupid. What an emotional wreck of a day. A month. A summer. I needed to finish this stuff up here, hop on a flight back to New York City, and forget everything about this town.
Or did I?Ugh.I taped together yet another box, one of the last in the basement, and lugged it upstairs to the main floor. I’m surprised my body hadn’t started rejecting cardboard particles or adhesive and burst a nasty rash across my skin. Once I got Peaches’s place packed up, I was never moving again.
The main floor was nearly empty, the bedroom almost completely packed. After I tackled the garage, which I seriously considered just burning because it’d be easier, I’d be done. Finally, I could put the house on the market.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter with a message. Morgan? I sprinted across the room.Nope. Just a reminder to make a yearly wellness exam. Granted, only a few hours had passed since I kissed her, but I thought she’d reach out. And myGod…what a kiss. Her lips were as sweet as I remembered, but more womanly, more intentional.I can’t believe I did that. And I wanted to do more. If anyone ever challenges me on my willpower again, I will enter this into exhibit A. It took everything in me to not drag her into the bedroom. But I couldn’t.Wecouldn’t. The Great Heartbreak Era of fifteen years ago could not be repeated. No matter what my body was screaming at me to do, I wouldn’t put myself, or Morgan, through that again.
I flopped down on a barstool and dialed Quinn. Before she even finished saying hello, I blurted, “I kissed Morgan.”
“Well, holy shit. Good afternoon to you, too,” Quinn said. “So tell me, sailor, what’s behind door number two? Happiness or sadness?”
What a loaded question, and I hadn’t processed it enough to know the answer. Right now, sad at myself for walking away, but also patting myself on the back for doing the right thing. God, doing the right thing sucked. “You did not just call me ‘sailor.’ Seriously, are you ninety?” I picked up a marker at the table and tapped it against the laminate top. “Confusion maybe? I don’t know. Christ, it was a stupid move, though.”
Quinn’s heavy breathing showed she was most likely doing a speed walk around the outside of her office building. “Stupid how? Like stupid when I agreed to share a cab with that sketchy dude downtown? Or stupid like you’re worried about getting all butt-hurt and broken?”
“No one in the world says ‘butt-hurt’ anymore. You really need to get out of the office.” My limbs needed to move. Tapping my fingers on the counter didn’t help alleviate the need to burn energy. I paced the kitchen, then hall, then back to the kitchen. “And yes. I’m worried about getting hurt. You know what a hot mess I was after she and I broke up. I couldn’t deal with it. But now I’m doing stuff, what, ’cause I’m horny? ’Cause it’s been almost two years since I’ve had sex with anyone.”
“Two years?Christ, no wonder you’re cranky all the time.”
“Quinn,” I snapped.
“Okay, okay, sorry. Obviously, I know you haven’t dated since Savannah. I just didn’t know you were flying the celibate flag.” Her breathing slowed and she exhaled. “So, what did you do after you landed a fat one on her?”
I left. As usual. Per my MO. What was wrong with me? Communication avoidance was clearly my drug of choice. With Savannah, with Morgan, with everyone. I’m not even one of those people who are afraid of conflict, and yet I run like a child. My stomach knotted. “Nothing. I just left the house. And before you even say a word, yes, I feel shitty about it, but trust me, had I stayed, I would’ve felt shittier because Iknowwhat would’ve happened.” Pacing inside was still not helping. I opened the patio doors to roam the yard. “I just don’t know what to do. I swear being around Morgan is like putting on my old basketball jersey. Like so comfortable, so familiar. Sheknowsme, you know? Notphotographerme. NotNew Yorkme. Just me.”
“God, that’s appealing. I think of how fake we are in our normal lives, pretending to like people we don’t, smiling when we want to scream.” The sounds of cars honking faded as Quinn must’ve stepped inside a building. “It takes forever to get to that comfortable space. Skipping all that and diving directly into the deep end sounds like some kind of wonderful.”
I scraped at a tree trunk with my booted toe. Quinn was right. Dating was miserable. When I did it before Savannah, I’d come home exasperated or annoyed. Putting on my best face, watching what I said, tiptoeing around political issues… No wonder when Savannah and I clicked, I jumped in headfirst.
So, was Morgan just a convenience?
No. She was so much more. Deep down, in my core, Morgan had always been something else.
