Chapter 8
At the dinner table, Vincent pouted so hard his lips practically stuck out a
mile.
I couldn’t help laughing. “Are you jealous?”
He snapped instantly, “I’m not! A real man doesn’t get jealous! I never get jealous.”
I gave a nonchalant “oh” and focused on eating.
From time to time, I could feel Vincent’s sad puppy eyes on me.
Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore and tugged on my sleeve. “Debra, I am jealous. Hurry and make it up to me.
I put down my fork with a chuckle, “I thought you were a big, manly man?”
He looked away guiltily and let out a cheeky chuckle.
“I don’t care! I want you to comfort me!”
I cupped his face and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Is that enough?”
He touched his lips in a daze, and his gaze slowly darkened, filling with desire. “No. It’s not enough.”
The sudden kiss hit me like a storm, catching me completely off guard. His tongue teased and tangled with mine. My mind went blank, and I closed my eyes, giving in.
Vincent was clearly inexperienced and just went at it messily at first. He
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bit me by accident, and I ended up with a bleeding lip. It stung with every tiny movement.
I shoved him away, pretending to be angry. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”
Then I bolted before he could react.
Later, even at work, I avoided him.
He was far too clingy. I finally had a chance to get away for a while to plan a surprise for him.
He’d hinted more than once that he wanted to live together. But the place I lived in now had once belonged to Randy too. Even if Vincent said he didn’t mind, I didn’t want him to feel like an outsider at that place.
So I bought a new apartment.
I wanted to give him a home that belonged to just the two of us.
Once all the paperwork was done, I couldn’t wait to see him.
I wanted to tell him how much I had missed him over the last several
days.
Just as I was ready to contact him, another call appeared on my screen.
“Debra, please come and pick Vincent up. He’s drunk.
When I arrived at the bar, he was slumped over a table alone, reeking
alcohol.
“Vincent, why did you drink so much?”
He opened his eyes lazily. “Is that you, Debra?”
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“It’s me, and I am here to take you home, okay?”
I walked over and tried to help him up, but he suddenly shoved me away hard.
‘You’re not Debra. She doesn’t want me anymore. Who the hell are you?”
It was then that I noticed he’d been crying. His eyes were swollen and red, making him look heartbreakingly pitiful.
Regret washed over me like a tsunami, and I realized I should not have lied to him.
I softly caressed his face and directed his eyes to mine. “It’s really me. I’m Debra. I didn’t abandon you. Let’s go home, okay?
Vincent stared at me, wide–eyed, trying his best to see clearly. He whispered like he still didn’t quite believe it. “It’s really you! Debra, let’s go home. I missed you so much.”
“Okay. Let’s go home.”
