He's effortlessly put-together in faded jeans and a coffee-colored linen shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows. But despite his delicious appearance, my heart sinks. He's not in workout clothes, which means my suspicions were right, and he's about to end this.
"Hey," I say.
He opens the door, and I step inside. Of course he's the kind of man who likes to have difficult conversations face-to-face rather than just ghosting and blocking someone online like guys my age are prone to do. As messed up as it is to admit, I'd almost prefer that to this.
I knew I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. As if an awesome, successful, charismatic man like Anson would be remotely interested in a thirty-three-year-old mess like me who's onlyjuststarting to get his life together.
Doing my best to hide the disappointment burning a hole in my chest, I ask, "So, what's the plan for today?"
He gestures toward the living room with a big smile to where an episode ofJoJo’s Bizarre Adventureis queued up on the giant flat screen. "I thought we could watch an episode then maybe do a light workout and grab some food after?"
I'm torn. That sounds nice, but is he just delaying the inevitable? If that's the case, I'd rather rip the Band-Aid off sooner rather than later.
I squeeze my eyes shut, huff out a breath, and force myself to look at him. What greets me isn't the face of a man about to break things off. "I-I'm confused."
"What are you confused about?"
"Are you going to stop these sessions because it was supremely weird at lunch with Robbie and Dunlop on the weekend?" The words rush out of me, fast and messy.
His smile deflates. "Is that what you want?"
"No. Not at all. But…" I sweep a hand in his direction. "You're not wearing workout gear, and I have a bad feeling you're usingJo Joto let me down gently."
His sturdy fingers splay across his chest. "I would never use anime against you like that."
A smile slips out, despite my worry. "You wouldn't?"
"No." He edges in, closing the distance between us. "And what are you talking about, letting you down gently?"
"I saw the way you were at lunch."
"I thought you said I was doing great?"
"I lied to save you from spiraling any more." Sighing heavily, I add, "It's obvious you don't want things between us to continue."
He inhales deeply and breathes out slowly through his nose, and as much as I was bracing for it, I'm fighting off an avalanche of worry when he says, "Let's sit down and talk, shall we?"
11
Anson
As we move into the living room, the pieces slowly fall into place, and I can see how Jarvis might have arrived at the conclusion he has. But he couldn't be more wrong. I don't want things to end. In fact, I'd love to do so much more than what we've done so far. And not just physically. I want to get to know him better as a person, too.
But I can't let things go on. I can't bethat guy, taking advantage of my wealth, position, and age to be dating someone decades younger.
I turn the TV off so there's no distractions. Despite years of navigating challenging conversations, negotiations, and boardroom showdowns, my heart is racing, and my palms are clammy.
Jarvis is such a special guy I'm going to be honest and direct with him because that's what he deserves. Even though I hate what I'm about to say.
"I'm sorry for acting strangely at lunch. Robbie only told me you'd be joining us after the doorbell rang," I say once we're seated, each at our own ends on the same sofa.
"I figured as much."
He's already dejected, like he can sense where this is going, and I haven't even gotten to the worst bit yet. God, this sucks.
"I don't regret what we did last week."
He glances up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "You don't?"