Joy Ride by Desiree Holt (reading a book TXT) 📕

hands with his. “We all have bad days, Emma. I’m going to assume we can put this behind us and move on from here.”

She slid her hand out from beneath his as easily as she could, picked up her wine again, and sipped lightly. This was not going to be easy.

“Actually, Andrew, that’s not really how it’s going to happen.” She looked at him with a direct gaze. “I didn’t do this very well so I’m going to try and do it better now. You need to accept the fact we’re not going to be seeing each other any more.”

He took a slow, deliberate swallow of his water, leaned back in the booth, and fiddled with his sport jacket sleeves. “I can’t believe you’re still on the same kick, Emma. You know how good we are together. Everything was settled. In its proper place. The way it should be.”

If she had any sense after that line she’d just get up and leave. Those few words summed it all up, the tenor of their relationship and of her life. And him. But she forced herself to see this through, hoping it would be for the last time.

“And that’s part of the problem.” Another sip of wine. She welcomed the warmth of the liquid, washing away the bitter taste of what she’d allowed her existence to become before the night she ran. She’d thought she wanted what he offered but in reality, it was only what everyone else wanted for her. “It’s my fault, really. I’ll take all the blame for it. But Andrew, I’d be doing us both a big injustice if I married you when I’ve realized this isn’t what I want at all.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with what we’ve got?”

She sighed. “I’m not sure I can even explain it, except to say I’ve always done what others expected me to. Even dating you, Andrew. You’re exactly the type of man my folks have always told me I should marry, and I thought they were right.”

“They are,” he insisted.

She shook her head. At that moment she was actually sorry for Andrew, so satisfied with his monotone life. Unwilling to see if there were colors waiting for him out there. She had the sad feeling he’d never have his own epiphany. “They’re not. Everything we do is safe. Predictable. I might as well be sixty instead of almost thirty for as much excitement as there is in my life.”

“Excitement is highly overrated,” he grumbled.

Emma was silent while the waiter set their orders in front of them then leaned forward again. “Maybe for some people. And maybe for them—and you. What you have is as exciting as you want it to be. But not for me.”

“It used to be,” he said stubbornly.

“No,” she answered in a measured tone. “I only thought it was.” She paused and wet her lips. “I realized I don’t love you, Andrew. Certainly not enough to marry you. I’d be hurting us both if I did.”

With precise movements he cut a bite of his steak, forked it into his mouth and chewed. All the while Emma could almost see his brain working.

“So what is enough, Emma? Tell me how I can change?”

Oh God, this was harder than she thought.

“Changing isn’t the answer. I repeat. I don’t love you. I know I behaved badly Saturday night and I was rude on Sunday. I should have taken the time to explain properly what I’m feeling.”

“Right.” He nodded. “And then we could work on it together.”

“No, we can’t.” She put her fork down and drained the rest of her wine. “How can I make you understand I want more than this? More excitement in my life. More fun.”

“Fun?” He sounded puzzled. “We have fun.”

“No. We don’t. We’ve being doing exactly the same thing every week since we started seeing each other.” She waved a hand in exasperation. “We don’t even have any variety in our sex life. No explosions. No fireworks.”

Not like what I have with Marc, a man who pushes all my hot buttons and makes love to me as if I’m the most precious commodity in the world. Who taught me how great erotic is.

But that begged another question. Why was she still holding back with him? For the moment she tamped the thought down hard, stuffing it in a far corner of her mind to concentrate on the present.

Andrew’s face reddened. “Our sex life is very normal, Emma. Or maybe that’s what bothers you. Has someone been putting ideas in your head?”

“Oh, my God.” She flopped against the back of the booth in frustration, thinking, a stone is a stone is a stone. “Maybe I just woke up one morning and…never mind. There’s no way I’ll ever make you understand I just want…more.”

“More.” His fingers clenched tightly on his fork.

“You’ll never know how much I regret the way I handled this. You’re a good man and don’t deserve to be hurt this way. But it’s over between us. We’re not getting married. We’re not even going to date. Can you at least accept what I’m saying? Then we can both move ahead with our lives.”

Anger and pain shone in his eyes. “I’m not giving up. Unless you tell me there’s someone else, I’m not letting you walk away.”

She stabbed at a piece of lettuce on her plate.

Someone else? How can I possible tell him about Marc when I won’t face the answers myself?

“The point I’m trying to make is I’ve finally realized I want different things out of life. I want a different life. I apologize again for handling this badly but there it is. The truth. You need to let go.” She put down her napkin and slid from the booth. “I don’t seem to have any appetite today.”

He stared at her. “Emma, I—”

“I’m truly sorry, Andrew. I am. But you need to find someone else.”

She practically ran from the restaurant, tearing down the street. Had he followed her? Was he even behind her?