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I refuse to let Martin get in my head like that. I’ve been through worse things in my life.
Far worse. Having an emotionally unavailable, borderline narcissistic father who ignored me while lavishing attention on my siblings? Yep, that was worse.
Twisting myself into knots trying to please him only to be ignored? Yep. Developing anxiety as a teenager only to have my parents both dismiss it as attention-seeking? Worse.
I spent years getting over all that shit. Patiently unraveling all the knots that made me the person I am today. Do I still have work to do? Hell, yeah.
Like nearly everyone in my cohort at UT, I have a running list of issues I’m working on.
And I have no intention of adding Obsessing Over Unattainable Men to that list.
So this ends now.
Right, clucking now! Hear that, uterus?
We are walking out of here and leaving our unrealistic fantasies behind.
It takes me twenty minutes to change back into my own clothes and pack up the hens. I even make his bed while I’m waiting for the Uber that I order for myself.
I absolutely do not linger longer than necessary. I do not indulge in the hope that he’ll show up, explain that it was all a misunderstanding, and take me back to bed to fuck my brains out.
On the off, minuscule chance that I’ve misinterpreted his note, well … He knows where to find me.
You know what I really, really don’t do?
Shed another tear for Martin flocking Harris.
Because it turns out that competent adult men who can make a woman come and have the emotional maturity to stick around are as fantastical as seven-foot aliens.
ten
MARTIN
Trinity doesn’t text me when she wakes up so that I can send her an Uber.
I give myself a couple of hours to indulge in the fantasy that it’s because she’s still at my house.
I have at least a few hours of work to catch up on and I’m already in the office. And by “work” I mean research about Savannah Lewis. I’d done thorough research before ever offering her a job working for Ian. I take my due diligence as his friend and emotional support lawyer very seriously.
Now that I know there’s even a chance that Ian is romantically interested in her, I dig deeper. He might not even realize it yet, but I do.
Besides, the contract she signed when I hired her gave me permission to do a back ground search. The NDA I had her sign was so deep and broad, the background search was the least objectional part of her contact. So I dig even deeper.
Do I feel like a total dick for researching Trinity’s sister while still hoping to fuck her tonight when I get home? Yes.
I don’t do more research on Trinity herself, because that would be crossing a line, even for me.
When noon rolls around and I still haven’t heard from Trinity, I bite the bullet and head home. If she’s still at the condo, I can bring her to brunch. If she’s not, then maybe it’s for the best.
Neither Trinity nor her sister are my clients, so nothing I’ve done could get me disbarred, but starting a full blown relationship with Trinity feels like a moral quagmire I should avoid. Correction, it’s one I should have been smart enough to avoid yesterday.
And, as I suspected, it’s a moot point anyway.
When I return to the condo, she and every trace of her are gone. The only sign she was ever there is the neat stack of Trinity-scented clothes waiting for me on my bed.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, given that she never gave me any indication she wanted more than a one-night stand … or that she even liked me for that matter. In fact, she was pretty clear about how she felt about me every time we met.
I was the one who hoped he could buy her affection with french fries and tornado-safe housing.
