The Heart Thief

Life is like a punch: either you dodge it or you get hit. It’s a constant battle to keep your balance and avoid being dragged down.

I’d never been able to avoid anything. I’d taken a lot of punches, but I was determined to get back up. My mother described it as my worst trait: adapting to the tragic life I’d been dragged into.

I never seemed to fight for anything, and as a result, I’d lost many years—years of being someone I could have been. It was as if life had a vendetta against me for not being like everyone else—for not seizing opportunities, making risky moves, and being spontaneous. Life simply despised me.

We’d had a strange relationship for years. It fucked me over whenever I thought it was going to love me. It crumbled me every time I thought I understood it.

I was a thirty-two-year-old woman with no control over my life or my nonexistent love life. If life was frightening, relationships were even more so. My mother assumed I had commitment issues. Then she assumed I was gay, and then she assumed I was a sociopath. Finally, she accepted that her daughter was not destined to be with anyone.

I had never really shied away from relationships. I just hadn’t met the one, as corny as it may sound, who lit me up. It was about someone who made me want to talk every day, with whom I wanted to share things, with whom I could talk all night.

Lately, all men wanted was a way to end up in your bed. There was no connection at all. No chemistry, no slow burn. No more crushes. It was simply lust at first sight.

I may not have been in a relationship to know what I was talking about, but I overheard a lot of conversations in the break room. My coworkers’ relationship stories were enough to paint a picture for me.

It was draining. It was hard. It was a battle, and everybody just wanted to survive it. And it was simply not for me yet.

Senior year was the closest I’d come to being in a relationship, but I wouldn’t call it a relationship. It was more of a desire for contact. A need to satiate the craving of a horny teenage girl.

I’d never had many friends when I was younger. I was never invited to any parties. Sure, I had talked to people, but they never stayed long enough to be considered friends. I was comfortable with that.

I had grown so accustomed to not having friends that when I started college, I made no attempt to make any. I never got to enjoy being young, free, and legal. I never went to college parties, smoked, or got high.

I knew I’d missed out on a lot by the time I arrived. I didn’t get to experience and do the things that girls my age did as teenagers and young women. I had none. There were no happy memories to share with my children.

It never bothered me how much I liked being alone. It still terrified my mother. She scheduled me for friendship dates that I bailed on, as well as dates with her friend’s son, which I canceled at the last minute.

It used to irritate and concern her, but she’d given up. She realized she couldn’t change who I was once I turned thirty. However, when I blew my thirty-second birthday, I realized I needed to change.

That was the day I awoke feeling different, and I suddenly saw all my regrets. I panicked when I realized I had nothing but a job with a boss I despised. That day changed me because it forced me to confront the reality I was living in.

I couldn’t go another thirty-two years like that. I didn’t want to keep going through the same monotonous routine. I wanted to enjoy what life had to offer.

I wanted love. I wanted passion. I wanted to be desired. I wanted what everyone got. Above all, I wanted excitement.

The first step had been to summon the courage to embark on a dating adventure. For the first time, I decided to dress up, following the path that led to a slew of hot guys flowing in and out, desperate to sink my teeth into someone hot.

However, the night ended with me refusing to speak to anyone. No one came over to talk to me, and no one bought me drinks, so I guessed that only happened in movies.

Dating sites were next on my list. I thought it would be easier to learn more about someone before going out on a date. There were more older, unattractive men than good-looking ones.

I was the type of woman who lusted after men like Andrew Garfield and Michael B. Jordan—though my favorite go-to guy was Idris Elba. My mother and I used to adore him while watching his films.

Those were the good old days. She didn’t spend half the movie lecturing me about getting old and having children. The dating site eventually started to show promise when I met a man named Alfie.

He was nice and cute, not stunningly beautiful, but cute enough for me. He didn’t make me laugh out loud, but he did make me smile. He piqued my interest in his life and how I might fit into it.

We decided to meet at a nice restaurant and see where things went from there. It was fine at first, despite the fact that he was just as dull in person as he was in text. I assumed he was just shy and polite. He turned out to be another version of myself.

I wanted someone who was spontaneous, funny, and entertaining. Alfie inquired about how many boyfriends I had. He turned out to be only interested in women who were being pursued by other men.

Knowing he had the most desirable woman turned him on. I had to excuse myself to the restroom because I was stunned. There was no second date or farewell after I snuck out of the restaurant.

Joshua was the next man I went on a date with. He was hot, and I expected things to go smoothly. The moment he opened his mouth, he became less appealing. He only wanted to talk about himself.

He did this all night, boasting about everything he had done and would do, his friends, his life, and his work, with great exaggeration. He blew up on me when I tried to talk about myself and had the audacity to say I liked talking about myself.

It was safe to say I didn’t throw a punch when I left the restaurant. I had vowed not to go on another date for a few weeks, but when I met Reggie, a real estate agent, my rule was broken.

After all, rules were meant to be broken. But here’s the thing: I never got to talk to Reggie. He looked at me and said, “You aren’t the right woman for me.”

He was gone in an instant, while I remained rooted to my seat in embarrassment. I’d had a feeling it was him. He was dressed in the blue shirt and black tie he had promised to wear.

Those dates had been disastrous, and I gave up on them. Who was I to defy fate if I was doomed to remain single, die, and be buried alone? I assumed I’d accept it.

I thought I had until Stan, an accountant, asked me out to dinner after we met at the coffee shop. I was excited, even though he wasn’t Henry Cavill. I was about to go on a date with someone I hoped would be the right man.

He had the potential to be the answer to my prayers. It was true what they said: good things come to those who wait—or, in my case, who were patient enough.

Stan texted me the location of the restaurant where we planned to meet. I’d never been to that one, but I’d heard it was pricey. I’d heard it was the restaurant that would drain your bank account if you didn’t have a steady source of income.

I wasn’t complaining, but I was concerned about our future and any children we might have. I didn’t want Stan to waste money on me before I realized I was getting ahead of myself. I had to wait until after the first date to start brainstorming baby names.

Two boys and two girls. The Italian restaurant blinded me with its beauty when I stepped out of the beat-up car I’d gotten for a low price. I adjusted my clothes—a black lacy blouse and pencil skirt that accentuated my boobs and ass.

I couldn’t deny I had curves. It was the one thing that drew jerks to me. I liked the outfit for two reasons. One, I liked how it made me feel, and two, I looked good in it. It was also simple to remove.

I never considered myself beautiful enough to grace the cover of a magazine. I was an average-looking woman of average height, who didn’t look a day older than twenty-seven. My dark hair was a mass of long, messy curls—a pain in the ass, but messy enough to look sexy.

My skin was medium brown, and I had deep-brown eyes framed by long, thick lashes. My full lips were naturally red, with only a gloss on top.

I was led to Stan’s table.

As I approached, he rose from his chair, kissed me on the cheek, and pulled out a chair for me.

I smiled nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I was nervous because I didn’t want to mess things up before they even started. This was an achievement.

So far, I hadn’t detected any hostility—which meant there was still hope. I could only hope that if I left here tonight with a boyfriend, my mother would stop bothering me about marriage, children, and dying.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, eyeing me up and down with an approving stare.

“Thanks.”

“Would you like wine? Or something stronger? Whatever you want, don’t hesitate on my account.”

“A glass of water, please,” I said politely, opting out of the delectable taste of wine. Stan was the type of guy who would make you feel at ease. It was his comfort that initially drew me to him.

After we ordered, he leaned back in his seat, a charming smile playing on his lips. “How are you today?”

“I’m good, thank you. What about you?” I asked, falling into an easy, comfortable start. “How is work? You mentioned you were an accountant—numbers and all.” I grinned with a soft chuckle. “I wasn’t really good at math in high school. It was torture getting me to sit through the class.”

He tried not to show it, but there was a pop on his brow. My brow furrowed slightly, which caused something to settle in my heart, but my smile remained unaffected. Perhaps I was overthinking things.

“Work is all right,” he responded quickly, saying nothing more. Nothing to acknowledge the remainder of what I said. Even though it appeared strange, I didn’t want to be discouraged just yet.

Everyone had good and bad days. Maybe today was Stan’s day off. The fact that he agreed to the dinner despite his mood said a lot about how much he liked me.

When the waiter delivered our food, Stan, like a gentleman, motioned for me to begin eating first. I dipped my fork into my pappardelle, an Italian dish, and took the first bite with a moan. When I realized what I had done, my face turned a bright red.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling like smacking myself for embarrassing myself.

Stan chuckled. “It’s quite all right, Millie. The restaurant is popular for having the best menu. That’s why it’s my favorite place.”

Great. A conversation began. I was terrified that the silence would bury me alive and force me to dig my way out. I had been burned out when he hadn’t offered anything a few minutes ago, but now that he was talking, laughing, and giving me a nice opening to converse, the dimmed light inside me resurfaced and burned up.

I was reborn. Like a phoenix, I crawled back to life. I smiled.

“Oh, you frequent here often?”

He nodded between bites of his Fiorentina steak. “I’ve tasted every dish on the menu, but I got to say, they have the best steak in the city.” He pointed to his plate. “I tell all my dates to order the steak, but you, I knew you’d like something else. I allowed you to order, but I order for all my dates.”

I stilled. The fork in my hand may as well have melted because I couldn’t feel the grip in my hand.

But I didn’t want to make a scene, especially since I planned to return. The atmosphere was pleasant, and the food didn’t seem bad.

But right now, it tasted like ashes. What a ruined appetite.

“Yes,” he said, not ashamed of it. “You didn’t think you were the first one I brought here, did you?” He chuckled softly, cutting a piece of his steak and putting it into his mouth, all the while watching me as though he was taunting me. “You’re the fifth woman I brought this week.”

Pause.

His smile deepened. “You’re one of my favorites, though,” he continued, as if he were hanging out with his friends, discussing his shameless actions. “I knew you’d be charming when I saw you. You were calm. I liked that.”

My fork slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the plate. My teeth were clenched. I hid my hands beneath the table so I could ball them into fists while breathing through each nostril.

“What exactly do you mean? Are you—” I paused, afraid that the longer I went on, the more I would swallow my tongue. But I had to keep going because WHAT THE FUCK!

I was screaming in my head, hurling myself against the walls, hitting my head on the concrete, tearing my flesh, and screaming at the top of my lungs. All of this was in my head, but I kept any emotion at bay out here.

I took a deep breath in, finding my bearings again. “Stan, are you dating others besides me?”

His eyes widened. “Dating?”

It was the first time he was out of character. I mean, he was practically about to scream more than me right now.

“Yes. Are you dating them while you’re dating me?” I asked pleasantly. Maybe too pleasantly. Perhaps I needed to grip something sharp in my hand. Like the knife on his plate. Yes, it seemed capable of severing his flesh. Perhaps not sharp enough to do too much harm, but sufficient to injure and maim.

He began to laugh. I wasn’t joking. He began to laugh, bending his head and muffling the sounds with his napkin as his shoulders shook with the tremors.

I could feel the moment the ice began to freeze all of my blood and veins, leaving me cold and numb. My heart was the only thing that seemed to be beating. It pulsed and pulsed, shook and trembled. It shook with frustration, fear, and rage.

I was pissed.

No, I was furious.

“Excuse me,” I cut off his laughter through clenched teeth. I was not about to sit here and be laughed at. “What the hell are you doing?”

“No, what are you doing?” he threw back as the last bit of tremors left him. He settled back into his seat, throwing the napkin on the table. “What gave you the idea that we were dating, Millie? You and me?” He chuckled. “You’re not serious, are you? I don’t plan on dating you.”

My eyes grew wide. “Excuse me?” I asked in horror. My disbelief should have been captured on camera so that I could hang a reminder of my disappointment and failures on my walls. “You don’t plan on dating me, but you asked me out?”

“I think you’re mistaken,” he said with ease. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat. He was having a good time. It appeared that this was not his first time having this conversation. This was far too calm for him.

I gave him a scowl.

“The only relationship we will share is a physical one, like all the others I met with this week. I’m buying you dinner and being polite so I could have a chance to sleep with you.”

“Excuse me?” I snapped. My vocabulary had shrunk to just two words. Damn. If I couldn’t think of anything else, it was bad. My insides were about to disintegrate, but thankfully, I was still alive to witness this moment. This was the point at which I, Millie Jenson, had completely and miserably failed in my pursuit of a man. Worse, Stan was the worst person I had ever dated.

I wanted to punch him, pick up a fork and gouge out his eyes, stab him in the back of the head and dig out his flesh like people dig graves. I imagined laying each layer of his flesh on the ground like bacon on a pan. My trembling body and raging heart, the raging fire within me, desired nothing more than to absorb this man’s life force.

“I can’t date you when I’m married, Millie,” he continued calmly.

“I thought you knew. I was wearing my wedding band when we met.”

Even though all I wanted to do was get out of my seat and beat the crap out of him, I was very good at restraint. How could I have overlooked something as significant as a wedding ring on his finger?

I should have noticed it, but I didn’t because I was a moron. I’d missed out on who he truly was because I was so excited to be asked out on a date.

My blood was hot and my insides were boiling. Sweat beaded across my brow. I swallowed. My mouth was dry.

“Why the hell did you ask me out when you’re married?” I asked harshly, clutching my dress tightly as my fairytale life crumbled before my eyes. All my plans were thrown out the window.

“Because you’re hot,” was his smart reply. “I’d like to sleep with you.”

I glared at him before getting to my feet, not wanting to spend another second in his company. My whole body shook violently. I might spend the night in jail if I didn’t leave now.

I grabbed my purse. “You’re a pig, and I hope your wife realizes what a pig you are.” Then I hurriedly crossed the tables, oblivious to the two sets of amused eyes staring at me. With a shaky breath, I walked out of the restaurant.

I welcomed the cold air’s bite on my skin as it rushed inside. If only it could calm the raging storm in my heart. Tears of rage and humiliation threatened to flow from my eyes, but I forced them back.

No way. No way. Not for any man. I knew I wasn’t meant to meet someone. I wasn’t meant to fall in love.

Who was I to battle with fate?

I stood on the side of the road, staring out at the cold night. The right man must have been having a good time somewhere out there right then. Or perhaps he was looking out his window, wondering about me as much as I was about him.

Perhaps, what awaited me was nothing.

I frowned, shaking the thought out of my head. Nothing good came out of thinking about someone who didn’t exist.

“Excuse me, miss.” All my brain picked out from the words was the accent. The hot accent. The rough voice.

I slowly turned. “Yes, can I help you?”

He smirked. “No, but I think I can help you.”