1.3

I went to the party because I knew he'd be there.

I was wearing flat sandals and a thin summer dress with nothing underneath.

We'd been flirting all summer, but it was frustrating. More than frustrating. It was PAINFUL. He was holding back, flirting with everyone. And he was doing the same at the party - working his way around the room, sharing a laugh, a touch, a look, with EVERYONE. I can pretend just as well as the next girl, but I just couldn't do it that night, I couldn't pretend that I was happy just to get my share of his attention. He was talking to some girl who was leaning into him and they were laughing. So I picked up my bag, slung it over my shoulder and left.

I got halfway down the first flight of stairs when he caught up to me. He caught my arm and I turned to face him, too pissed to even try to pretend that I didn't give a shit. I thought he'd start with the flirting again, to draw me back in... god knows he seemed to NEED a horde of women all panting for him.

But he didn't flirt. He didn't have that little smile on his face that I used to find so charming but that later made me want to hit him.

He looked... upset.

And then he slipped one arm around me, braced the other on the wall for support, and kissed me.

I married him a year later.