* * *
From the first words that flew out of your mouth, you owned your you-ness. You never backed down from what you wanted. You were defiant, strong and sexy, and quite flirty.
* * *
(Admit it, you were.)
* * *
I was hooked, and at the end of the night, I asked for your number because you were the most intriguing woman I’d ever met.
* * *
No one has kept me on my toes like you do. Apparently, I like being knocked off-kilter.
* * *
Then, we met again at my party, and I saw snippets of your tenacity and bits of your ruthless honesty. The first time we went to the chocolate shop, you showed me more of that deliciously naughty side, plus your intensity, your drive. I wanted more.
* * *
All the things I learned next floored me. Your strength, your bravery, and your ferocity.
That’s when I started to fall for you in earnest.
I fell in new ways when you met my grandmother. Watching the two of you interact felt a little like magic, and a little like everything I’d been missing in my life. Everything I’ve been terrified of for the last few years—closeness, connection, intimacy.
* * *
You gave all of yourself even under the guise of an understanding. And the whole while, I fooled myself into thinking no one would get hurt.
* * *
But I hurt you. Badly. And that’s the opposite of what I want to do. I want to make you feel amazing, because you deserve the neon billboard in Times Square at night.
* * *
You once said I only liked the chase, but that’s not true. I love chasing you, and I love catching you, and I don’t think either will ever stop. I’ll never truly know all of you because there’s more to learn every day. I want to understand the next layer of Bellamy. And the next, and the next.
* * *
Until the other night, I believed the risk of love outweighed the reward.
* * *
But when you walked away, I realized love with you is worth everything.
* * *
So here I am, asking for a third chance.
* * *
Love,
Easton
45
Go Big or Go Home
Nolan tosses a T-shirt into his suitcase. I point in horror at the wad of fabric. “Is that how you pack?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“Roll it up,” I say, demonstrating how to fill a suitcase properly. “You roll the shirt, nice and tight.”
“Yes, like an adult would do, not a teenager.” The feminine voice comes from the phone as Emerson FaceTimes us from San Francisco—Lombard Street, by the look of the steep hill she’s walking down.
Nolan rolls his eyes. “I know how to pack.”
“No, you don’t, man,” I say, grabbing the shirt and thrusting it at him. “Now, do what I showed you.”
He sighs, all manner of aggrieved. “I thought we were talking about your lack of relationship skills, not my lack of YouTube travel tutorial skills.” He rolls the shirt in a tight cylinder than presents it. “Are you happy now?”
I slow clap. “Well done.”
“Yay! You’re learning,” Emerson cheers in a wildly sarcastic tone. She drops it, though, for me. “Okay, Easton. It’s been two days. How is the most epic grovel fest of all time going?”
Nolan flashes a smug grin. “I want credit for that name.”
“Take it,” I say. “That and a metro card will get you on a subway. Anyway, I wrote her a love letter.”
Emerson’s eyes shine. “Ooh, there’s just something about the written word.”
There is, indeed. “She’s recording a show this evening, but she wants to meet after. Here’s what she said.” I clear my throat and read Bellamy’s reply from last night, though I have it memorized. “I like this side of you a lot. Can you meet me tomorrow night after seven? I have my recording at six. Will send details on where.”
“That’s a good sign,” Emerson offers.
Maybe, but I’m not getting ahead of myself. She might ask me to meet outside the gym to say ‘thanks, but no thanks’ before she attacks forty stories on the StairMaster, post-show. I won’t make any presumptions.
Before I’m free to focus on Bellamy, I have another thing to make right. I check my watch. “I’m due for a side trip on the grovel train. Time to see Victoire.”
Nolan gives a low whistle. “Man, when you fuck up, you fuck all the way up.”
“I’m all about go big or go home.”
“Let the apology tour continue,” Emerson says, and I bid them goodbye and take off.
Angeline sits regally at her desk, her face unreadable. Spine straight, shoulders back. Gaze intense.
She’s not pleased, and with good reason. I feel like such a shit for letting her down. So I dig deep, and own my fuck-up.
“I let you down at the party, and I sincerely apologize. You’re a business partner but I also care about you as a person, and I failed you on both counts the other night. I let a personal matter distract me, and I regret letting you down,” I say, and holy hell, this adulting shit hurts. But it’s a good hurt, like an intense workout.
Angeline takes a weighty beat before she speaks, and in those few seconds, her expression softens. A bit of relief fills my veins. “It happens. I understand,” she says, then shrugs. “I was looking forward to meeting Max, but if he was more interested in meeting someone else, he wasn’t the one for me.”
And . . . she has a point. “That is true. And I understand if you want to end our business relationship. I didn’t put out the caliber of product you signed on to partner with. I’ll refund the sponsorship money, of course.” I’d be a terrible businessman, though, if I didn’t do everything possible to salvage this connection. “But I hope you’ll stay on for the year we contracted for. A year of free sponsorship for the chance to correct my mistakes.”
Her eyes pop. “Whoa. I didn’t see that coming.”
I’ve said my piece, done what I can. Now I just give her time to process.
She twirls in her chair a few inches left, then twirls back to the right. “What capsized you the other night? Was it the woman you kept talking to?”
Busted.
“Yes. I’m in love with her, and I sort of handled that realization badly,” I check myself with a self-mocking laugh. “There was no sort of. I handled it all badly. She deserved better, and I’m trying to win her back. She’s actually the one who helped find those Carpe Diem couples on Twitter.”