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“Atlas got Molly home last night. Two seasons of The Simpsons and two plates of nachos later,” I told her.
We had a nap after our soak, and then I ordered pizza. The remains are sitting on the coffee table in front of us while the tv drones away.
I run my hand over her long, blonde hair.
“Hey. You still awake?” I ask.
She nods and rearranges herself so we can look at one another. “Yes. I was just thinking about how we do this. You know. When we are at work.”
Oh.
Yeah, no, fuck. We don’t. We are not...
Shit. I’m terrible at this when it comes to this woman. This is a game I am not familiar with.
Professional women have always known the rules but with Payton, it's different.
I’m to blame. I should have been clear last night and this morning.
I don’t want to hurt her.
“Payton.” I lay my hand on her face. “We can’t. I told you I don’t date. This can’t become anything.”
She moves away from me. “You asked me to stay. You wanted to have lunch.”
I shake my head.
“I know, I like you... we just—”
“We had a BATH.” She climbs to her feet. “What was that?”
I follow her and stand, angry. It’s not like I proposed, for god’s sake.
“A bath. It was a fucking bath.”
She throws her hands up and I see the tears in her eyes. I’m unsure what to do. I hate seeing her upset. But I am not going to promise anything, and the stakes are just too damn big here.
“No, it wasn’t. You like me. You told me you like me,” she says more quietly.
“I do fucking like you, Payton. Too fucking much. I never have women stay over like this. They fuck. They go.”
Her face falls further.
“So what? Lucky for me? I could have got kicked out at two am instead of now.”
“Yes!” I yell.
Then regret it.
Tears fall down her face, and she spins on her heels. I follow her, but she slams my bedroom door in my face. Then locks it.
“Payton. That is my bedroom.”
“Get out,” she yells.
I turn around as if looking for someone to show my exasperation to but I’m obviously alone.
“This is my house.”
