It was only supposed to be a fuck. A blowjob. It was never meant to be more. I allowed him to take it to the next level. I did this. I pray he’ll hate me. It’ll be easier for him to walk away if he does.

Who am I trying to fool? It would be easier for me.

I could only imagine the conversation taking place currently at Latch’s birthday party. Him being thirty—definitely not the topic. I left Haven standing in the library as I made my way out to meet my taxi. I’d called for one when Keenan and I landed. I knew how this would end, so I preplanned an escape and made sure a cab would be waiting. Yes. I’d given this thought. I have no idea why I even bothered to come here. Maybe I wanted to see Haven one last time. I knew she would be beyond irate with me. We’d never really fought in almost twenty-five years of friendship. If we had disagreements, they were normally loud and brief. But what I just did wouldn’t be easily forgiven.

I think I’m slightly selfish too. I wanted to feel the warmth of Keenan holding my hand one last time. He has this way of brushing his thumb across mine as he caresses my hand. I enjoyed seeing other women fumble and become stupid around him. But his eyes never stray. Regardless of other women who are decades younger and more beautiful, his gaze is reserved for me only. How he must despise me right now.

Of course, this is better than leaving him at the altar. We both need to move on with our lives. If I hadn’t left him, he would have spent not only time, but effort trying to talk me into it. Why couldn’t he just be content with what we had? Why do men need more? I know he thought he could change me, and in many ways he had. I’d been faithful. Committed and monogamous. Three words I never thought I would use to describe myself.

One fucking piece of paper. That was the destroyer of nations. Okay, maybe not nations, but many relationships. Did I instigate this? Did I somehow appear to desire marriage? I know Keenan looked at Latch and Haven and yearned for what they had. The life I could never be a part of because it isn’t me. I could have given him an ultimatum, but I never wanted to be the one who made him choose. Me or what really mattered to him most—a lifetime of wedded bliss. The bastard was greedy; he wanted both.

I’m going to have hours to dwell on what I just did. Maybe I can close my eyes and sleep the entire flight. But I know what dreams will come. I need to believe I made the right choice. It’s over now anyway. I know without seeing Keenan I’ve crushed him.

I reach into my purse as I sit down, adjusting my seat for the long flight. I meant to grab some tissue, but what I grasp in my hand is the ring. I pull it out and gawk into the reflection of the largest diamond I’ve ever seen. I know without a doubt he had it created and designed specifically for me. Keenan always told me how uniquely different I was. He said there were a million reasons he fell in love with me—one of which was because I had a special quality of making others laugh. He found it both charming and endearing. I wonder if he’s laughing now.

I tuck the ring back into my purse and place it next to me. Stretching out in the seat, I cover my eyes with a sleeping mask. Slumber won’t come easy. Guilt courses through my mind, and I struggle with the darkness. I try for what seems like hours, when I realize we haven’t even taken off yet. I lift the mask and turn on my side. First class is unusually empty on this particular flight, and I’m happy because I know it will be easier for me to rest. But I guess that’s not going to happen. I toss and turn, unable to stifle my thoughts. Maybe I’ll watch a movie or read a magazine. For ten fucking hours.

When I get home, I’ll rearrange my schedule and take a few days—maybe a week off. Possibly a trip to Hawaii or the Virgin Islands? Anywhere we haven’t traveled. I need to regroup and focus. I’m too used to having him around. It will seem odd, as if I’ve misplaced something.

Jesus! I’m thinking about him as if he’s a pair of shoes—and if he were, he’d be Louis Vuittons. Extremely gorgeous ones. I should have left the ring with Haven. Better yet, I should have never accepted it and told him how I felt before we went to Scotland. God, I’m such a heartless bitch. I deserve karma.

Past

It’s not as if I practiced at birth—on my pacifier. I wasn’t sexual until high school. I think I was what they called a late bloomer. Watch out for those girls because we make up for lost time. A lot! The beginning of high school is a memory I wish I could bleach from my mind. I was smart and shy. A super bad combo. I had unruly red hair, a face full of freckles, and an underdeveloped body that resembled one of the boys. I prayed nightly that I would mature as my mom promised. She too had red hair and freckles. But she had boobs—big ones. I wanted those too. I had nothing to offer the boys in school. I was plain and I had no figure. On top of it, I had no skills. Social ones.

Hell, my parents didn’t give me the “sex talk” until I was fifteen. To be honest, they didn’t make it sound very tempting. All that discussion about bodily fluids, STDs, and babies. It appeared to me if you had a penis, you were the devil. Evidently, when I turned sixteen, I wanted to go to hell.

I’d been invited to Brandi Myer’s birthday party. It was my first real get-together (with boys), and it was a sleepover. Even though it was a sweet sixteen party, Brandi was anything but. The party was in the basement, and there were Jell-O shots, beer, and pot. I’d never drunk before, and those shots were tasty.

The boys arrived after her parents went to bed. Ten minutes later, I was introduced to the games Have You Ever and Seven Minutes in Heaven. I just watched because I’d never kissed anyone but my parents. And I could tell from all the heavy breathing and touching this was more than kissing—this was definitely not relative kissing. My tummy felt funny as I watched. I had strange sensations coursing through my body. It was disturbing, but in a good way. Not one of the boys was interested in me anyway, so I drank a couple more Dixie cups of Jell-O, then began yawing. Evidently, liquor made you sleepy.

Mr. Myers came down and kicked the boys out while he admonished Brandi. She just laughed it off while following her dad upstairs. She returned with a fruit bowl. After many shots, among other things, I was kind of hungry and interested to find out what she had in mind toting a bowl of fruit. The other girls already knew because they began giggling. I watched with curiosity as Brandi began to peel the banana.

Once it was unpeeled, she began to caress it. Lick it. Suck it. I was fascinated. The way she maneuvered that banana in and out of her mouth and throat, well, it was thoroughly mesmerizing. She stopped long enough to give me instructions. She was teaching me about oral sex. I wasn’t a complete moron. I knew the basics, but this was something else.

According to her, all boys loved BJs. I’d heard girls talking about it in gym class. To be frank, putting a boy’s penis in my mouth didn’t sound all that exciting. Maybe for him, I supposed, but I didn’t relish the idea. It sounded nasty to me—taste-wise. I mean, seriously, they had their thing crammed in their pants all day and they peed out of it. How sanitary was it to put something that dirty in your mouth?

Brandi had three of us practice on bananas; the other girls got stuck with apples and oranges. Who knew I would be a natural? It appeared I had no gag reflex and, according to her, I had an abnormal ability to “deep throat” fruit. I didn’t know it back then, but that was a huge accomplishment. The other girls seemed jealous of what I could do. I was finally able to impress my peers. I had no idea what I was actually doing and how it was going to change everything for me. If I had seen my future, I would have been surprised to see how the act of fellatio would not only alter my life, but all I would touch.