♫ A pretty little fool
To think exceptions to the rule
Just walk around
Like you and me this way ♪
(Lana Del Rey—Dark but just a game)

"He wants to talk about something serious."

Coralie's brain worked overtime as she waited for Michael to get out of the shower. And once he was out—draped in a loose towel, his chiseled chest gleaming with the after-effects of steamy water, a boyish grin on his face—she fought to hold in her thoughts. It took ounces of energy she didn't possess to avoid telling him she'd seen someone else's bare chest the night before, kissed someone else's lips, had someone else's penis inside her.

To give herself a chance to mull over her attitude, she hurried into the shower. She wished to wash off the stench of her mistakes, the crudeness of her misdeeds. But no matter that she kept her eyes open as the water trickled into them, to rinse her sin—she still saw Chester's "o" face, his widened mouth, his reddened cheeks. She still heard their bodies slapping together as she sat in his lap, and he pounded into her. And still smelled his cologne-tinted sweat as it smeared over her skin in their final moments of ecstasy.

As she dressed, Michael entered the room and asked her if she had time for breakfast—like Delilah had implied he would.

"My flight is later this afternoon," he said, crossing one leg over the other as he sat on the bed. "But if you can spare me an hour or two, I'd love to have one last meal with you." He watched her with intrigue as she buttoned her jeans and nibbled on his lower lip as he glanced at her ass.

One last meal sounded a bit final, to her, but she knew what he meant. She shrugged. "I'm off all day, actually, and," her stomach growled, and she groaned, "I could use something to eat."

Michael smiled as he stood up from her mattress. "The diner across the street? I noticed they had a mean vegetarian breakfast burrito that I'd love to try." He picked up his backpack and slung a strap over his shoulder as he kissed the space between her cheek and her temple. "I'll wait for you out in the living room, yeah? Take your time, there's no rush."

Oh, Coralie would take her time, for sure. She wasn't ready to sit across from him and admire him grinning at her, listen to him compliment her, or try not to cringe as he sang her praises and encouraged her, as he normally did. How to pretend like she didn't have pages of apologies to write to him, and millions of reasons for him to call her a fraudulent bitch for what she'd done?

She held her breath as another realization hit her. Was he maybe aware of all that she'd been doing behind his back, and hoped to air grievances in a public, neutral place? Had he been keeping his cool this whole time, acting like he wasn't cognizant of her betrayal, but waiting for the last minute to clarify that he knew?

She started shaking as she applied a thin coat of powder to her face. What if Delilah hadn't covered for her as she'd claimed, and decided to inform Michael of her nasty comings and goings with other men? It didn't benefit Delilah in the slightest to be so cruel, but she was sick of dealing with Coralie's bullshit. Coralie was sick of dealing with her own bullshit; surely her best friend and roommate had had enough, too.

She finished putting on her make-up and joined Michael in the living room. Delilah was there, sitting on the armchair, scowling at Coralie—though only Coralie could decipher such an ominous, veiled look of disgust. To Michael, she probably appeared fine, content, relaxed as she sipped on her coffee. But to Coralie, her expression suggested "get the hell out of here and don't talk to me until you figure your life out."

Michael and Coralie departed, descending the stairs in silence, running across the street without speaking. He linked their arms, but neither said a peep as they proceeded into the restaurant. Coralie didn't know what to say, and worried that if she took the reins of the conversation, she'd steer it in the wrong direction, misinterpreting Michael's reason for needing to have a serious chat with her. She'd overreacted, right? It could be about anything—it didn't have to be about their relationship. The options were endless.

"Hey." Settled across from her, Michael gently tapped the table to get her attention. She'd zoned out throughout their entry into the diner and their choice of seats, and only came to now. Her eyes fixed on his, sparkling and sincere, sweet as usual.

Oh, how she hoped she wouldn't have to break his heart today. Not when he was so innocent, so caring, and so damn handsome. In his denim-blue button down shirt and ripped black jeans and black Van's, he seemed ready to hop onto a skateboard and slide off to some adventure. And a part of her didn't want to lose sight of him yet. If she spat out the truth now, she'd likely never see him again.

"Gosh, I'm sorry." She rubbed her forehead and placed a hand over his. "I'm so distracted. And I've been distracted this whole time you were here, huh? I suck." She squeezed him, craving to remember the way he felt, hoping it would erase the way Chester had held her, kissed her, touched her. "Last night, they roped me into extra hours, and I couldn't refuse—"

"—babe, you're fine." He flipped his hand up and squeezed her back. "I understand demanding jobs, and you did tell me you weren't sure when you'd return. I'm happy enough that I woke to you sleeping soundly beside me. That's all that matters." A server came by, and he ordered them coffees, then his breakfast burrito. Coralie asked for an egg-white omelet with ham, bacon, and Swiss. "And anyway, that's not what I needed to talk about." He sat up straight, a sense of urgency and seriousness in his posture.

A jolt raced through Coralie, immobilizing her against the booth cushions. Was this it? Was this the instant when he'd warn her he'd been keeping tabs on her, had intelligence on all her dirty actions, had the names and addresses of the two other guys she'd been fucking in secret? Would he forgive her with a pat on her hand? Or throw his coffee cup in her face and cackle as the scorching liquid burned her flesh off?

She moved her palm from the table and dropped it into her lap, to conceal her trembling. "Okay, babe, first off—"

"—First off, I love New York City." He beamed at her. "I regret not visiting sooner, for sure. Or considering moving here with you. Which would have been a huge step, and so early in the relationship, but... worth it."

"Huh?" Coralie froze as the server deposited two hot mugs of java in front of them. She clenched her teeth to prevent her jaw from slamming onto the table. "You... you're telling me you had... a good time? On this impromptu trip where I totally neglected you and came home late and... are you serious?"

He nodded and sniffed in the coffee's aroma as he drew the mug's rim to his lips. "I bitched about it in the beginning, but I'm not mad, babe. You have a life here, two jobs, research, and homework to do for one of those jobs... and I showed up unannounced. Romantic as that was, it threw you off, and I apologize for that."

Apologize? For real?

She cared for Michael deeply, but how could he be so oblivious? How did he not wonder, not question her behavior, that differed from when she lived in San Francisco? How did he not suspect something was up, and instead trust her so blindly?

There he was, unaware of her lack of boundaries, of her wild tendencies, of her inability to stick to one man. He thought her to be monogamous—and she was, usually—but she had more contenders up her sleeve and couldn't choose between them. How would he feel if he knew she hesitated to keep dating him? How would he react if he found out she'd been going back and forth between wanting to break up with him—egged on by one of the guys she was cheating on him with—and wanting to hug him forever? He was long-term material; he was husband material. But she'd messed up her chances for that by listening to her vagina over her common sense.

He didn't deserve such horrid treatment. For his own good, she should have dumped him, to spare him the pain she'd soon hurl at him.

She melted on the inside. His obliviousness, his kindness, his ease with believing in her made her care about him more, despite making him a tad too detached from the real world. She itched to warn him how big of an asshole she was; but she also craved to keep him in her life, because he brought a sort of stability that kept her sane. It was selfish, and unforgivable, and she hated herself for it... but she wouldn't divulge the truth, not yet.

Sorry, Ryan. I can't do it.

"Yeah, I... I plan to look into this when I get home, but I'm thinking of opening a branch of the company out here. I visited a few locales with my friends, took some notes, some pictures... and this city has so much potential. We've been doing well out in San Francisco, and it's time to expand. I'm sure this scenery and these downtown landscapes would be in demand in the skateboarding community I aim for." He sipped from his beverage. "My buddies gave me names of a few online newspapers and magazines that would pay bank for my kind of photography. Start-ups like mine thrive over here."

Losing sensation in her fingers from the cold electricity surging through her, Coralie wrapped her palm around her mug. "What... are you trying to say? That you'll be visiting more often?"

Michael chuckled. "That I might be moving here." He leaned against the rubbery cushions. "I'd have to, to ensure the proper function of the new location. Hire the appropriate staff, get the business going. I already know who I'd promote to watch over the San Fran office." He winked at her. "And I'd be closer to you. You wouldn't have to worry about entertaining me or reorganizing your schedule for our video-chats or rushing around to see me if I'm in town. I'd be here, and flexible for you."

Again, her jaw came close to hitting the table as gravity drew it downwards. "Move? Here?" She gulped, and a sour after-taste grew in her mouth. "You want to move to New York City?"

Her mind broke into two different sections. One screamed at her to end things with him now, before he officialized his plans to live in the same town as her; the other braced to jump up and down and clap because she did miss him every damn day and having him close was a nice alternative to their daily phone calls.

She chewed on her tongue, unsure how to react to his news. She saw the benefits to his proximity, but she knew his presence would also alter her life and force her into a position she'd been avoiding for months. With him in New York City, she'd have to come clean, decide, wound, endure hatred, and risk not one but four hearts.

One corner of her mouth wanted to shoot upwards, the other fought not to tug down. She wished to be supportive, but him uprooting himself to be near her would cause more issues than positive outcomes. How to explain that to him without upsetting him, or tickling his curiosity into asking her questions she wasn't prepared to answer?

His too calm, too sweet voice pierced through her negative thinking and returned her to the present. "Yeah, I do. It's... ideal."

"But are you sure?" She unrolled her cutlery from the papery cloth around it and set the latter in her lap. Grasping the fork, she tapped its end to the table in an uneven rhythm, then ceased when she realized he'd detect her nervous nature through her jitteriness. "You've only been here a day and a half, baby. Is this what you want, or did someone influence you?"

He took the fork from her, dropping it onto the table as he slid his fingers between hers. "No one influenced me. Sometimes... when you know, you know." His gaze glued to her, glowing with joy, as if trying to tell her something... but it was something she didn't want to read in his eyes yet. That vibe that his feelings were growing, that his affections towards her were stronger... and moving here was a means of revealing that to her. "And I have such a good feeling about this place, anyway. Every picture I took spoke to me. The places I visited were calling to me. I'm a San Fran boy, a west-coast kid at heart... but my soul might be yearning for the east-coast."

To hide her cringe, Coralie slurped up more of her drink. If she told him what she was really thinking—that he was making a mistake, that he shouldn't follow such a savage hunch, and she wasn't who he thought—he'd lose all his enthusiasm. And his enthusiasm added to the reasons Coralie cared so much about him. His thrilling outlook on life, his urge to see everything, do everything, and document it all, and his constant positivity helped motivate her for all her tasks.

If she ruined him now, hours before he was set to get on a plane-ride that he'd loathe, she'd regret it forever.

"If that's what you want..." She sighed, deflating into her spot as their meals arrived. "Then I'm happy for you. You deserve to find purpose in your job, and to expand your business and continue to thrive."

"I'll do lots of research first, of course, so don't get too excited," he said, taking a bite of the potatoes that accompanied his burrito. "Shit, these are so good. Why don't you ever eat here?"

She was far from excited, and surprised he hadn't commented on her shortage of dynamism. But so busy devouring his meal, he allowed her an instant to fix herself and exclaim "this is awesome, babe!" before seizing her utensils to cut her food. She flashed him a flimsy smile that she hoped he'd interpret as genuine and shoved a large bite of omelet into her mouth.

A voice wedged deep in her mind prayed—and she never prayed—that his plans to move to NYC wouldn't pan out. She needed more time to get her shit together, and to figure out how to not destroy a bunch of lives in the process.

♥♥♥