Love Of Lust

Chapter Sixteen

Becky's POV

When Riad walked through the door, he didn't say a word to me - didn't even shed his laptop bag and coat at the door. He just walked straight over to me with his hand outstretched, and I held out the letter obediently. His eyes scanned all over it, quickly, from top to bottom and then once more.

"Well," he said, setting it down on the coffee table.

"Well," I agreed. He finally lifted the strap of the bag over his head, setting it down on the floor, and stripped out of his coat. He sat down next to me and stared at his hands for a moment.

"I've been consulting with some people," he said. "My new lawyer - chosen very carefully, I promise. I don't think she'll have quite as much of a weakness for Jess as Regman did. And I talked to some people on the inside who are pulling for me. They've all agreed that we're through the woods now. There'll be no more interviews or surprise visits. The decision's been made, the file's been sealed. So really - there's no reason to keep doing this." I stared at him.

"Sorry?"

"I know what the contract says." He met my eyes, finally. I couldn't quite read his face. "Six more months. But I'm willing to break it, if you are. I can have the money by tomorrow." I clasped my fingers together tightly in my lap

. "I think that's a little premature. I promise I'll stop throwing things at your head." He let out a little huff of laughter.

"Regardless," he said. "I think this will be better for both of us. Don't you?" I bit my lip.

"I always just...I guess I just figured we'd stick to the terms of our agreement."

"I did too. But wouldn't you rather go home?"

"I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"I'm sorry," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "I thought this would be an easy decision for you. I wouldn't have brought it up, otherwise."

"I just don't think it's a good idea to assume we're out of the woods," I said. "Do you?"

He was tapping out an abstract rhythm on his knee, his fingers seeming to move almost of their own accord.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," he said, finally. "But I really do think it'll be better if we don't have to see each other." My throat felt very dry.

"Better for who?" I said. He didn't answer - he just stood and walked away, up the stairs to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It seemed our fight wasn't over. He was right. I had to remind myself of that, forcefully, because I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

We were getting entangled with each other in a way that simply wasn't practical. Proximity had fooled us into believing we were...if not in love, then at least some reasonable facsimile of it.

Sitting there alone on the sofa, I remembered a beginning psychology class I'd taken in college, because it seemed like the easiest way to fulfill a science requirement. The professor had gone around the room and asked everyone to name the place where they'd encountered their last romantic interest - a chorus of school, work, school, work, school, school, and work followed.

The teacher explained that people feel more affection and emotional investment with people to whom they are close in proximity. We don't date classmates and co-workers just because it's convenient, we do it because we are literally close to them. I'd been so, so stupid to think I could live with a man who looked like Riad and not find myself head-over-heels for him within a few months. No matter what I "knew," the deeper parts of my brain - the parts I couldn't control - would whisper sweet nothings until I lost myself in feelings that didn't make any logical sense at all.