Real Women and Great Sex
“Let’s drop off your coat in my room,” Isaac said, leaning in over the thud of the music.
I knew what he was doing.
The steak dinners, the endless compliments, the lines about wanting to be in a relationship. The problem was, I didn’t really care. The way he looked at me and put his hand on the small of my back and whispered in my ear made me feel special, adored even. I had been warned about men like him who were just after one thing, but part of me wanted to believe he did mean all those sweet nothings.
As we walked up the stairs, leaving the intoxicated party behind, I tried to push my thoughts aside. Maybe he wasn’t like the other guys I’d dated. Maybe this time with this man would be different.
He shoved open the door, interrupting another couple in the middle of what looked like a heated breakup. “Sorry, dude,” the guy muttered, and the two scurried down the stairs, avoiding eye contact. I tossed my fur-hooded jacket in the pile on the chair in the corner and turned to leave.
“Wait. I want to show you something.” He grabbed my arm.
“Okay.”
The click of the lock transported me to the past. I remembered spending the night in Ryan’s room and the next night showing up to find him with another girl. The memory of John, who pressured me physically even when I said no, came flooding back. I remembered my failed relationships with David and Pete and Sam. I thought back to all the promises I had made myself to never be that stupid girl again. My airway felt like it was closing. I didn’t know what Isaac’s intentions were for me behind his locked door, but I did know that I didn’t want to hang around to find out. I’d fallen for the lines too many times, and my heart and self-worth were too delicate to risk another failed relationship. Feeling utterly forgotten has to be like someone has taken your heart and stomped it into a bloodied mess. I didn’t want to have to wait by the phone tomorrow, regret and guilt and feelings of worthlessness strangling my already fragile spirit. But what if it was different this time?
— Excerpt from Chapter 3, Real Women and Great Sex, of Real Men Don’t Text
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