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“Good for you. And I don’t want your autograph.” Her tone is entirely unimpressed.
“What I was going to ask is, are you ready for me to give you your exit row briefing?”
I would like to tell him to fuck off and not because I don’t want to do my job, but because of the point he’s trying to prove.
“Maybe think about getting a bigger uniform. The one you wore today was awfully tight, and I don’t want the guys on board getting the wrong idea.”
This is what I needed—a little attention from a cute guy, my brother’s game on the screen, and a beer in my hand. I feel better already.
After her little arrogant show during the security briefing, I had a blast putting her in her place, reminding her of who she works for.
“Truthfully? I don’t want to be in the same bar as you. You’re kind of a dick.” My head falls back in laughter, and a confused but playful smile dances on her lips. “Well, I think you’re kind of a brat, so it is what it is.”
“You’re in love with yourself.” “Someone’s gotta be.” The statement holds way more truth than she realizes.
This is my newest tactic to get under her skin. She wanted my attention last time? Well, from now on, I’m gonna hang on every word she has to say, and it’s going to be awkward as fuck.
There’s a smug, satisfied smile on Stevie’s lips, as there should be. Her unwillingness to back down or give in to my charm, the way most women do, is officially intriguing, with equal parts frustrating.
We dated most of college, but there were multiple periods of time when he would end things with me because he had other options.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but my confidence in myself took a huge plummet from constantly feeling like I wasn’t enough for him, and of course, it was the same time my mother started to make comments about the way I looked.
I think I want her to like me, though. Like on a human level.
Women, I tell you. They’re all a little nutty.
It’s no longer about teaching her a lesson and reminding her of who she works for. It was about getting her to like me and hopefully getting her to want to sleep with me too.
A lot of women use vibrators. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It keeps you from making some poor choices when you have this thing at your fingertips.
But no. Screw that. I just don’t know how to get out of the situation now that I’m in it.
When did I become such a desperate motherfucker? But also, why doesn’t she want to talk to me?
They’ve underhandedly made comments about her body, which makes me real sensitive about that topic for her after Stevie got upset last week.
I’ve never kissed a chick’s head before, and I’m not going to lie, it felt kind of weird.
What I don’t feel good about is the fact that Stevie still hasn’t accepted my follow request on Instagram. It’s been hours. I’m sure she’s seen it.
I don’t want to be anyone’s option anymore. I want someone to choose me.
“But I’m glad my first choice showed up.”
When I think about it, Zanders has never made me feel self-conscious. Not intentionally anyway. It’s always my own self-doubt seeping into my mind that does the trick.
Grabbing two fresh beers out of the fridge, I make my way downstairs and outside to see the only person who has made me feel good today.
But ever since that day at the dog shelter, I don’t know that I’m all that interested in just another session in the sack. I kind of what to hang out with her, too. With our clothes on. Without is cool too.
“I like talking to you.”
I couldn’t tell you the last time I felt it consistently, but I have as of late. As much as I don’t want to admit it, Zanders’ attention has done a number on my self-confidence—in the best way possible.
part of me wants him to want me for once.
“You want to be chosen first? Well, so do I. So, choose me.”
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be begging someone to give me attention, to want to spend time with me, but here I am doing just that but finding it entirely worth it.
I feel seen, chosen, and accepted by someone I choose just as much.
Her words are something I didn’t think I would ever hear, especially with the meaning behind them. They fill me with the hope that maybe one day there will be even more between us. That maybe one day I will love this woman, and maybe somehow, she will find a way to love me.
“Let’s be honest. We knew there was going to be an end to us eventually.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Can I fix it?”
I can choose myself.
“It was simple. I wanted you to love me.”