Part One Here
I tried to forget about her, just like always after she leaves.
I sit across from some other woman as she chats cheerfully about what she does for work. She just got her degree, how exciting! What is it in? I have no idea. All I could think of was how her laugh sounds so different than hers.
"I had a nice time," she says, leaning over to place her hand over mine. A small upturn at the corner of her cupid bow lips. There's no denying that she's stunning, and she knows it. "Maybe... I could stop buy for a nightcap?"
"I had a nice night too," I force out, my tail winding around my stomach again as if that can stave off the churning. The bile rising to the back of my throat. "But I don't really, you know... do nightcaps on a first date. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize for being such a gentleman," she laughs. I feel like I'm going to be sick. "What about second dates?"
"I think we're supposed to wait until the third," I joke, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
"Well, then we should hurry and schedule the second one at least," she grins, giving my hand a soft squeeze.
"Sure," the words are choking me. Can she not tell? "How about next Friday?"
"I have work until early evening. What about Saturday?"
"Sure."
I'll have to trade shifts with someone. I can't afford to call in, but I'm not going to tell her that. She would never understand, so how could I expect this stranger to?
"It was really nice meeting you," she says after I pay. Fuck. I didn't realize her cocktail was almost an hour of pay.
"Yeah, it was nice to meet you too," I have to force out the words through the lump in my throat. "Let me walk you to your car."
"You're too sweet," she coos. The affection in her voice makes my skin crawl.
After I get her to her car, I wave as she pulls away. Why can't I move on? I have to reject her as my mate or I'm going to live in this agony forever. But, Gods, the idea of never having her under me again, never hearing her laugh, or sigh, or promise me that she's leaving him, makes my knees weak. Just the idea is white hot agony.
As if on cue, to extend my torture, she texts me:
Hey you. Can I see you tonight?
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