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She watched me warily. "I can't, Dante. I don't have any time. I need to keep my game face on here. This role is important to me.
I knew, absolutely knew, that she was just making excuses. It hurt, but I'd been hurt worse.
I told myself that it wouldn't always be this way.
"Just a kiss on the cheek, then, and then we'll say goodbye," I cajoled.
She was worrying at her lip, looking at me like I might bite (because she knew me), but she slowly nodded and leaned a bit closer.
I met her more than halfway, placing a chaste, loving kiss on her cheek, then her forehead, then her other cheek.
Her breath was coming out in little pants, her eyes closed, lips parted.
So much for chaste.
I rubbed our lips together, tongue darting to lick hers tentatively, and then deeper, stroking into her mouth, my hands going to cup her face.
She moaned, deep in her chest, a sound of abject need, and started sucking on my tongue.
I pulled back with a gasp.
Her face was stunned for a moment but it quickly turned into a glare.
I almost smiled. "See you tonight."
"Bastard."
*****
She got home late, and I was waiting up for her. Even if I could have put it off another day, I wasn't sure I wanted to, at this point. I was ready to come clean, to get it all out in the open, at last.
God, it was a long time coming.
Scarlett didn't draw it out. We'd barely cleared the bedroom door when she said, "What does she have on you? Tell me."
I stopped mid-stride, turning to her. She'd gone by her apartment before she'd come over and packed an overnight bag. I'd carried it upstairs for her and still had it clutched in my right hand.
I dropped it on the floor, just staring at her for a minute.
Where to even begin?
I felt my head shake. A slow, precise movement. A little to the right, a little to the left.
It was enough. So simple but so telling.
Her face froze. "That," she said dully. "Of course. For how long?"
"You know," I said.
I watched as comprehension struck. It was a terrible thing.
The look in her eyes would haunt me. To the end of my days. Haunted.
Like everything with us, the hurt cut both ways.
"She made you break up with me." She said it like she didn't quite believe it.
You'd think the truth would be less harmful than the lies I'd told her. But sometimes the truth is the hardest thing to stomach, especially if you knew that some part of you should have seen it all along.
