Page 3 of Committed to You

Rationally, I know I shouldn’t.

Emotionally, I’m dying to see him again.

As I’m conversing with myself in my head, I get another message. This time, it’s not from Piper.

“Am I going to see you this weekend?” The text from Chase pops up on the screen, and butterflies erupt in my stomach.

He wants to see me.

Of course, he does. He wants you to be another one of his girls.

Tell him no.

Against my better judgment, I play dumb. “Are you in Chicago?”

“Yep. You didn’t hear?”

“Sorry. I have a life besides keeping up on your schedule.”

“Fair enough. Friday night. Club D. I think we should dance.”

“How do I know you won’t step on my toes all night.”

“Come out, and you’ll find out.”

I’m grappling with myself about whether to go or not when I get another text from him.

“I miss you. Please tell me you’ll come.”

And those words make me once again lose the battle.

“Okay. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Awesome. See you then.”

I put my phone down and sit back in my chair. This isn’t smart. I need to avoid him. Chase lives in New York and has a schedule of girls who sleep with him. He doesn’t cheat. They all know it and are fine being only a number. But I won’t do that.

Even though we are in different parts of the country, the thought of being another girl on his totem pole makes my stomach churn. If something had developed between us, it’s not that I would have wanted him to commit to me long distance from day one, but to know that he has a slew of girls lined up for his next romp in the sack makes my choice clear.

I will not become one of his girls.

But instead of telling him no, I won’t go, I torture myself. All week I think about him and try to work up the words to cancel. But I don’t.

Friday comes quickly, and I’m in my closet, debating about what to wear. I should tone it down, but I do the opposite. I employ all the effort I would put into getting ready for a date.

The little black club dress I pull off the hanger is my sexiest item. It hangs low on my back and dips down in the front, allowing my cleavage to pop just right. I pair it with four-inch red stilettos and some red jewelry.

It takes me over an hour to style my hair and apply my makeup. I spritz several pumps of perfume and look at myself in the mirror.

I look good. Maybe the best I’ve ever looked, and I know that I’m playing with fire.

It’s just a bunch of friends getting together. You’re looking good for whoever you’re going to meet tonight.

You’re such a liar. You’re not going to have eyes for anyone except him.

My phone beeps, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“We just landed. What’s your address? We’ll swing by and pick you up,” Chase texts.

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