She reached for my arm, her voice soft, sweet. “We haven’t been together in so long. Let’s take things slow, yeah? We need time to rebuild what we had.”
How much time did she need? As far as I knew, she never had male friends. Even her assistants were all women.
She used to bring me everywhere, introducing me openly, proudly.
“My boyfriend,” she would say with a smile. “Don't be jealous. There’s only one you in the world.”
Yeah. There was only one me, but she had plenty of others.
Yvonne used to feed me in public, always making sure I didn’t drink too much, too. Every birthday, she gave me handmade gifts with long, heartfelt letters that made it seem like I was the only man in her world.
I used to believe that, but not anymore. I tossed off the covers, got out of bed and pulled back the curtains.
Outside, Yvonne—thinking I was still asleep—slipped into her car, moving carefully, quietly. Then she drove off.
I watched the empty driveway for a long time. This relationship was done. Or at least, it should have been.
The next morning, I rolled over and felt Yvonne’s warm shoulder beneath my hand. She yawned, stretching like a cat. “Jordan, you’re awake? Are you hungry?”