Chapter 12
Iwasn’t expecting him to ask about my ex, and I’m not sure how much I want to tell him. Why would he assume there’s a story there? My ex was kind of a piece of shit, and I’m embarrassed by the way he treated me and the things he said. I hate that I didn’t stand up for myself at the time.
I could kick myself for staying with him as long as I did.
He was my first serious adult relationship.
Before him, my experience was reduced to handsy boys who wanted to touch me in private but not be seen with me in public.
I was never asked to go to school dances because I was always seen as one of the guys, and the crushes I had were never reciprocated.
I misread a lot of situations where I had feelings for someone and he didn’t return them.
When I graduated, I was so busy focusing on trade school dating took a back seat.
Then, Dad died, and I was too lost in my grief to think about a romantic relationship.
“Do you want the long answer or the short answer?” I hedge, hoping he’ll choose the short answer but knowing he’ll want the long one. This man is intent on worming his way through my walls.
Saint turns to dip a measuring cup in the pot of boiling pasta before pouring the steaming liquid into the blender. “Long, obviously.”
“Blend that first, then I’ll tell you.”
He turns on the blender, and I watch the ingredients mix into a vibrant green sauce.
When it’s thoroughly mixed, he shuts it off, and without breaking eye contact, he dips his finger in the sauce and brings it to his lips.
He sucks it off and hums before grabbing some spices and sprinkling them into the blender.
The way his lips wrap around his finger shouldn’t be erotic. He’s literally just making food. There’s nothing sexual about it.
Except…
I heard something earlier. Something that sounded a lot like groans of pleasure. When I came out of the bathroom, I figured I’d find him in the kitchen prepping for tomorrow or something. But when I started walking, I heard the faint sound of skin on skin and some mumbled words I couldn't make out.
I tripped over the coffee table because my mind was picturing Saint with his cock in his hand. Then I started wondering if his cock matches the size of the man.
And now I’m thinking about it again.
Fuck, stop it, Mikey.
Saint flips on the blender one last time to mix the new spices in before he drains the pasta, and the air fryer beeps.
“Can I help?” I feel weird sitting here in his clothes watching him cook and not helping at all.
“Absolutely not, you just answer while I finish putting dinner together.”
I huff out a laugh. “My ex was… kind of an ass. I think I was only with him because he was there right after my dad died, and he was the first man who wanted to show me off and not hide me. We met on a dating app, and at first, he was nice, attentive. He’s older, has a solid career, and never made rude comments about my body in the beginning. ”
His eyes narrow as he tosses the sauce with the noodles. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Buckle up, big guy. For the first two months, everything was great. He’d take me to dinner and on romantic dates.
He didn’t try to fuck me until our fourth date, so I thought he was such a gentleman.
I’ve never been shown off or wooed, I guess, so it was nice—his attention.
Before I started seeing him, I’d never had a good reason to dress up, so I didn’t have a dress other than the one from my dad’s funeral.
Two months in, he decided I needed an upgraded wardrobe for date nights.
It took us three stores to find clothes that fit my body, and he…
” I trail off, a lump forming in my throat when his cruel words prick my skin again.
“He… what?” Saint prompts, his voice low.
“He said ‘shopping with you would be easier if you lost some weight.’ And I… he wasn’t wrong. It’s not like I haven’t thought the same thing. But hearing it from someone who’d never said something cruel to me felt like a slap in the face.”
Saint sets down the Tupperware he was holding with a little more force than necessary. “I hope you slapped him in the face for saying something so fucking stupid.”
My eyes widen at the indignation in his tone. “I—no. I didn’t. I told him I’d try to lose weight. Which seemed to satisfy him.”
“But it wasn’t the end.”
“No.”
Saint puts the lids on the Tupperware, quickly piles all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, wipes the counter, and washes his hands. “Join me on the couch?”
I nod, grabbing my water and following him to the living room, where I sit on one end of the couch, and he sits on the other.
“Continue.” His soft command makes me want to squeeze my thighs together.
I take a sip of my water to soothe my suddenly dry tongue.
“After that, I started wondering if I should break up with him. I didn’t, though.
Instead, I justified his behavior to myself and to Kelly, saying he wasn’t wrong, and he was just trying to be helpful, not mean.
It’s not like I’m lazy or sitting around all day, but if I stuck to a workout plan or diet better, maybe I could lose some weight.
Work just depletes most of my energy. By the end of the day, I can barely stay awake long enough to read a chapter of a book, let alone workout or count the macros of the food I ate. ”
Saint’s eyebrows furrow before he shakes his head. His hazel eyes meet mine, and there’s an intensity in them I haven’t seen before. “Your body is perfect exactly as it is, Mikelle. He’s an absolute idiot scumbag for even suggesting you should change.”
My breath hitches at the way my full name rolls off his tongue, a shiver working down my spine. “Th-thank you,” I whisper.
“Don’t thank me for saying what’s true. What happened next?”
“He started getting impatient. He hated that I worked so much, he hated that my fingers were always ‘dirty.’ He started making comments about how I’d look prettier with more makeup and how he wanted to pay for me to get blowouts and manicures.
Nine months in he told me I should quit being a mechanic so I could find a more ‘feminine’ job and leave the cars to the men,” I scoff.
Even thinking about it makes my skin prickle with anger.
“It was the last straw for me. I wouldn’t tolerate him shitting on my career—a career I’d been working towards my whole life.
I told him I was done, and he told me no one was ever going to want to be with a woman who does a man’s job and never wants to dress up.
We’ve been broken up for almost two years now, and sometimes my insecurities pop up, and I wonder if he was right.
I wonder if I should have lost the weight, quit my job, and just settled.
But then I think about the love my parents had for each other.
The way my dad spoke about my mom… it was like she hand painted the moon and stars.
If I can’t find a love like theirs, I don’t want it. ”
Saint’s voice is low and serious, with an edge of something I can’t place as he says, “I need you to listen to me, hear me. That asshole was so wrong it’s laughable.
Nothing about you needs to change, and the right man—someone secure in himself—won’t be threatened by your job.
He won’t want to change a single goddamned inch of you. You’re exquisite exactly as you are.”
Someone like you?
I can’t find it in myself to ask it aloud.
I don’t even know how to respond to his words, so I opt for taking a sip of water and attempting to move the conversation along. “Well, now that you know what happened with my ex, tell me about yours.”
I can tell he doesn't like the change of subject by the way his lips purse, but then he gives me a teasing smile. “That’s not a question.”
“What happened with your ex? Why did you break up?”
Saint lounges back on the couch, spreading his legs and tossing one arm across the back, like a king on his throne. I want to crawl between them.
Knock it off.
“My ex was great. We’d been friends for a few years, and she was there for me when my mom died, always offering a helping hand.
We dated for six months before we mutually ended things.
For her, it was because she realized something about herself I won’t share because it’s not my story to tell.
For me, it was because she just… wasn’t the one. ”
“How did you know she wasn’t the one?”
“She didn’t light me up or make my blood sizzle.
I didn’t feel content just being in her presence, and I didn’t crave being around her every second of the day, even in what was supposed to be the honeymoon stage.
We’d go days without talking sometimes, and when we’d come back together, it was easy, but I realized I didn’t miss her when we were apart.
Maybe it makes me sound like an asshole, but I swear I had the best of intentions with her.
In the end, after she figured out her stuff and told me, it made sense, and we agreed we’re much better off as friends. ”
“I don’t think you sound like an asshole. I’m glad it was amicable, though. Does she live around here?” It’s really none of my business, but I’m curious.
“She does. She owns the bar in town.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” My voice sounds high pitched, so I clear my throat.
“I don’t hold any romantic feelings for her, Mikey,” Saint says softly.
“It’s none of my business if you do.”
“Isn’t it? You’re here in my house, in my clothes, and you’re not at all concerned if I have feelings for another woman?”
I shrug, trying to put on an air of nonchalance. I can’t let myself be worried about his feelings because I can feel myself on the edge of the cliff about to fall for this man. “Nope. I’m here because you’re kind, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Saint chuckles like the sentiment is ridiculous to him. “Whatever you need to think to make yourself feel better, sweetheart. Now, my turn for a question.” He taps his fingers on the back of the couch before he hits me with, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
I choke on my mouthful of water, sputtering out a raspy, “What?”
Saint moves next to me, rubbing my back gently. His hands are warm through my shirt, and I like it. Too much.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you choke.”
I’d like to choke on something…
“Just wasn’t expecting that question. But no, I don’t… I don’t think I believe in love at first sight. Do you?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No thinking about it. Just absolute resolution in his voice.
When I risk glancing at him, his eyes are already roaming my face. My skin heats at his perusal, and when his eyes lock on my lips, my heart beats rapidly against my ribcage.
“Your turn for a question,” I whisper. I need him to move away from me before I do something stupid like lean in and kiss him.
“When do you think it’s appropriate to ask someone if you can kiss them?” Saint’s voice is barely more than a low murmur. Goosebumps rise across my skin.
“I don’t know. I think that’s between you and the person you want to kiss.”
He licks his lips, his eyes still locked on mine.
I muster up as much bravery as I can. “Do… do you want to kiss me, Saint?” Part of me is absolutely terrified I’ve misread this situation, but the way his eyes flare makes me think I haven’t.
“So fucking badly. Can I? Please?”
I nod, too scared to speak.
“No, Mikelle. I need you to say it. I need your sweet voice to tell me I can kiss you like I’ve been dying to for a year.”
What? A whole year?
I can process that later.
“You can kiss me. I want you to kiss me. Please kiss me.”
“Fucking finally,” he murmurs just as he cups my jaw and presses his lips against mine.