Chapter 7 Lainey
Lainey
Istare at my phone. He could not be a real person, right?
There is no way possible that I, Lainey Quinn, found this gem of a man and he’s being this kind to me .
. . telling me that I am worth everything.
And it doesn’t feel insincere, slimy, or like some overused line to try and get something from me.
Every interaction with Remington is different. I know that he’s genuine.
I have been my own worst enemy when it comes to men and relationships, always giving them too much credit when they have not earned it yet.
I am a glass half full, believe in a better world, fairy tale love can happen kind of girl.
I have seen friends fall in love and find their perfect match.
It just doesn’t happen for me. I find the rotten apples disguised in candy coating.
Poison that slowly drips into my system, making it too hard to feel because I’m in deep, numb and wanting to give the person the benefit of the doubt, while they are simultaneously whispering doubts about myself to me.
It takes me too long to pull myself out of bad situations. I have the unfortunate life-experience receipts to look back on to confirm my self-loathing right now. This is not just a “one bad boyfriend” whoopsie. I am historically awful at picking the right men to have in my life.
When I met Remington I felt this draw to him, and I told myself it meant nothing.
This had to be rose-colored glasses for the first person being a little bit nice to me after what happened with Brett.
But deep down, I know I am wrong. There is not one speck of my body or soul that gets a vibe from Remington that says he is full of the deception or toxicity that I am used to.
Every other man, even if I never wanted to admit it at the time or upon reflection, had red flags right off the bat.
I swear to all the saints I am like honey to a bee when it comes to those toxic men.
It is like they can feel the daddy issues, vulnerability, and need for more pouring off of me even when I try to lock that all in. And then they pounce.
I want to give, and they love to take.
And it’s always painful.
Leaving me with scars deeper than the skin, imprinted on my soul.
Whispers of unworthy and unlovable scratch through my brain on the most unhealthy record player of all time.
So, when a man like Remington LeBlanc walks into your life, wipes tears from your face with strong, callused hands, and offers to help you out of pure kindness, then sends you flowers?
He tells you he wants to help you even more, to know you?
God, that is everything.
It also scares the shit out of me.
I should not allow myself to have any kind of feelings for anyone right now.
I don’t have a problem being alone. Relationships, as awful as they have been, are not a chronic problem for me.
I have only seriously dated three people in my twenty-six years.
Then, the handful of casual dates scattered in between were unsuccessful setups, or thankfully never turned into more than one or two dates.
Remington wants my honesty, so I guess that is what I will give to him. Not only because I want to, but I think he might be the first man that actually deserves it.
Lainey: I don’t even know what to say to that . . .
Remington: Say that you will let me take you to dinner tomorrow night?
I blush reading his immediate response, like he was waiting for his chance to ask me out.
Is he asking me out? Is it a date or just going as friends?
I want to go back and overanalyze all the things he said to me and try and figure it out, but I know he’s waiting for me to answer, and I can’t sit here debating in my own head, leaving him on read for too long.
Lainey: Dinner sounds great. I should be done with work around 5.
Remington: Perfect.
Lainey: Where should I meet you?
Remington: I will pick you up at 7.
Lainey: You don’t have to do that, I don’t want you to go out of your way.
Remington: I’m picking you up at 7, Lainey. Nothing for you is out of my way.
Lainey: Okay see you tomorrow, Remington
Remington: It’s a date
A kaleidoscope of butterflies take off in my stomach as I read the exact words that confirm what I desperately wanted to know. And they make me race toward my closet, already worried about what I am going to wear.