Getting over your ex is tough when he lives right down the hall…and tougher still when he’s in your bed.
He wasn’t Andrew when we dated–he was a curvy, black-haired beauty I locked eyes with in a club. I didn’t realize it was serious when we stayed up all night talking about music. Nor when he was spending more nights at my place than his own. We fell into a rhythm I missed completely, and as a percussionist, that’s embarrassing.
Our break-up wrecked me more than I’ve been willing to admit. But when my ex shows up on the porch in the middle of the night, soaked and homeless, I can’t turn him away. He needs a place to stay, a job–I can give him that, at least. But when he wants me to hold his hand during his first tattoo and cook meals with him, fall asleep holding each other…that’s different.
Can I put my fragile heart on the line again, knowing how it ended last time? Or do I owe it to myself to see if what we had the first time was just the overture?