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TWO WEEKS LATER, ON our regular Wednesday evening, I was resolved not to go to the hotel to meet Sean.
I’d told him last time that I wasn’t going to show up, and I was determined to hold myself to that decision. I’d even taken the precaution that morning of wearing my most unattractive underwear, ones I’d never want Sean to see me in, to ensure I would stay strong.
It wasn’t as easy as it should have been.
I wanted to go.
No matter how obnoxious and territorial Sean had been that one time, I had many more nights of his being smart and funny and sensitive and sexy to compare it to. I had very tangible memories of how good we were together—in bed and out of it.
Those evenings with Sean had been the most enjoyable times of my weeks, and after two weeks had passed, I was ready for another night with him, even though my mind and my heart knew it wasn’t good for me.
He’d said he’d be at the hotel like normal.
He’d said I would change my mind.
I could see myself doing so. Even as I sat in my office—an hour after I normally left so I wouldn’t be tempted to make a detour to a certain hotel—I could visualize myself getting up, walking the block over to the hotel, riding up the elevator, knocking at the familiar door.
Sean would tilt the corner of his mouth up with that dry amusement. Then he’d let me in and maybe make a teasing joke about how he’d been right all along.
We’d pretend the whole thing had never happened.
He would make me feel so good.
My body craved him—like an addiction. It somehow knew that every two weeks it got very special treatment from Sean, and it was expecting the same thing to happen tonight. I’d only been seeing Sean for four months. All the rhythms and pulses of my body shouldn’t have transformed and shaped themselves around our nights together.
But that was how it felt.
I wanted to be in bed with him so much I could taste it.
I fought against the desire though. I wasn’t going to cave. This was better for me. Prioritizing love and a real relationship, not settling for empty sex and a man who could never be who I needed him to be.
I’d miss Sean for a while. I knew I would. But I’d get over it. And hopefully I’d have a relationship with John to fill the holes Sean had left—and eventually give me so much more.
Things had been going pretty well with John. We’d been getting together a couple of times a week after work for a drink or a quick meal. I knew it wasn’t really dating, but it felt like a step in the right direction.
And at least John had never acted like any part of me belonged to him.
These Wednesday nights are mine.
Tonight was one of those Wednesday nights that Sean believed were his.
He was going to be surprised and disappointed when I didn’t show up.
I tried to be pleased by this fact, but I wasn’t.
It made me feel kind of sick.
I blew out a frustrated breath and tried to focus on the contract I was writing, but the words blurred before my eyes.
I wanted to stay at least one more hour so it would be clear to Sean that I wasn’t going to come.
He’d probably leave the hotel by then, so even if I messed up and accidentally made my way there, it would be too late. Sean would already be gone.
This was my plan.
Stay right here in front of my computer for another hour.
“What are you doing here so late?” The voice came from my doorway and surprised me so much I jerked.
I turned to see a smiling, handsome John Cooper leaning on my doorframe. Smiling back, I said, “Just trying to get some work done.”
“Something urgent?”
“Not really.”
“You want to grab something to eat?”
My heart skipped happily at the casual invitation. It was perfect. If I was having dinner with John, there would be no way for me to forsake my resolutions and go to the hotel after all. And I also wouldn’t have to sit here any longer to work. “Sure. I’m getting hungry.”
I shut down the computer and got my stuff together before I grabbed my bag and checked for my keys. I’d been wanting to try a new Thai place nearby and was just opening my mouth to suggest it.
“There’s a good sushi place down the block,” John said as we headed for the elevator.
I smiled. “Sounds good to me.”
I don’t actually like sushi.
I know. I know. It’s an embarrassing admission. I’m just one of those people who is always off trend, no matter how hard I try to do the popular thing. It’s not even the raw fish I have a problem with. It’s all the crafted combinations of flavors and shapes and colors with dips and sauces I don’t like and ingredients I can’t recognize. It’s intimidating, and I never end up enjoying it—even though everyone my age loves it.
But I didn’t want to go into all that with John, who clearly wanted sushi tonight.
It would have been nice if he’d asked what I felt like eating, but he had every reason to assume I liked sushi.
Nearly everyone did but me.
We chatted about work as we walked to the restaurant, and it was crowded so we had to wait for a few minutes before a table opened up.
I scoured the menu for something that looked simple and easy to eat and felt kind of stressed when the server came over and I wasn’t sure what to get.
I finally picked something out from the vegetarian section and hoped I’d chosen well.
If I’d gone to meet Sean at the hotel tonight, I could have had a steak.
I quickly brushed that thought from my mind.
John had been telling me—in great detail—about a client he was working with. I was happy to discuss work with him since it was something we had in common, but the story was getting a little boring.
I made myself listen, though, instead of letting my thoughts drift in inappropriate directions.
Sean’s hands on my body.
Sean’s lips on my skin.
Sean moving inside me.
Sean making me come.
“Don’t you think so?” John asked.
I blinked, having absolutely no idea what he’d said before the question. “Oh, uh, yeah. I think so.”
John nodded, so I must have responded appropriately. “Anyway,” he said with a slow smile. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.”
I paused with my glass of water at my lips. “What about me do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything.”
I hate prompts like that. It’s just conversational laziness to give one vague question and expect the other person to encompass their whole life in a minute or two.
But people did it all the time, so there wasn’t anything strange about John. At least he wanted to learn more about me. That had to be a good sign.
I opened my mouth to answer but realized I had absolutely no idea what to say. “There’s nothing very exciting about me.”
“I’m sure there’s something.”
Well, I got together with Sean Doyle every other Wednesday night for hot sex. That was kind of exciting.
Obviously, I didn’t mention that detail to John.
I wasn’t meeting Sean anymore anyway.
He was probably in the hotel room now, coming to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to show up.
I wondered what he was thinking.
I cleared my throat. “I got As in school. I went to law school. I got this job. I work hard, and I’m always on time for appointments, and I don’t even have a cat.”
“Well, I for one am glad to hear that,” John replied. “I’m not really a pet person.”
I was a pet person. My family had always had dogs. But I worked all day, and I had a fairly long commute, so it just didn’t seem fair to leave a dog by itself all day.
“That reminds me of this client I had last year.” And John was off on another story, which was actually a relief since it saved me from the pressure of having to think of something to say.
Our plates came, and mine was at least edible. I didn’t really enjoy it, but I didn’t have to force it down.
It definitely wasn’t a steak.
We ate and chatted for about an hour until John glanced at his watch and said he had to get going.
I was tired and restless and horny and a little bit hungry still.
But it was far too late to go over to the hotel even if I’d been weak enough to try.
Sean was gone by now. He wouldn’t wait all night. He’d make better use of his time.
Maybe he’d go to a bar and pick up a gorgeous, sexy woman to spend the night with.
He liked having sex. It was one of the things he did to relax. He’d told me so himself.
If I wasn’t providing the sex, he’d get it somewhere else.
I didn’t like that idea, but I couldn’t let myself think about it for long.
I couldn’t be territorial or possessive. I’d gotten angry with Sean for being just that, so I couldn’t be a hypocrite.
He was allowed to fuck whomever he wanted—just like I was.
And since I was no longer going to meet him on Wednesday evenings, we’d both have to find new sex partners.
John kissed me before we parted. Fully on the lips, just a little bit longer than casual.
My mind buzzed loudly as he did so.
Everything was exactly as it should be. My life was back on track.
So there was no reason for me to feel so blah and discontent and restless when I finally got home.
But I did.
***
A WEEK AND A HALF LATER, on Saturday evening, John took me out for our first real date.
A Russian ballet company was in town, and he took me to the performance.
This wasn’t just a casual thing after work. This was a real date. It was significant, and it meant that my romantic daydreams were finally coming true.
I stressed about what to wear, and I stressed about how to act, and I hadn’t come to any clear resolutions on either of those matters when I had to get out the door.
I was meeting John in the city so he wouldn’t have to come so far to pick me up. (My apartment was in a suburb because downtown prices were too high for me.)
I had put on an outfit, but I wasn’t sure it was the right one. People tended to dress up for the ballet, but how much I should dress up was a mystery. I was wearing a black skirt that flared flirtatiously at the hem and a clingy green top with a very thin cashmere sweater over it. It was kind of middle ground in possible ballet outfits, which was why I’d chosen it.
I was too stressed to enjoy the anticipation of the date, although I was relieved when I saw John wearing a black suit with a charcoal-gray dress shirt and silver tie. My outfit seemed to match his, so at least I hadn’t made a big mistake.
Once this had been sorted out in my mind, I tried to relax and focus on being in John’s company. I’d spent enough time with him now that I didn’t constantly feel like I was someone else in my body, but I did still feel that way some of the time.
Like when we were walking into the theater together.
The seats he’d gotten were pretty good—the first row of the balcony, right in the middle, which I preferred to being far back on the orchestra level. I had a good view of the stage and of a good portion of the other seats. I liked to people-watch in situations like this, and I had a good vantage point from my seat.
Because I was looking around just after I’d sat down, my eyes landed on one of the boxes—on our level but to the far right.
I froze when I saw who was sitting in that box.
Sean Doyle.
And beside him a gorgeous blonde with a tall, slim body. She was stunning. She looked like a model. And her outfit clearly wasn’t put together from the discount racks like mine was.
He saw me too. I knew he did because our eyes met across the distance.
Maybe I should have expected it. After all, this was one of those events that rich society people often attended.
But it had never even crossed my mind that I would see Sean here—or anywhere other than that hotel room.
My stomach had dropped so dramatically at the sight of him that I was momentarily afraid I might be sick. I looked away from him quickly, focusing my eyes up on John.
John was smiling at me, saying something about how he liked these seats because they had more leg room.
I didn’t give a damn about what he was saying at the moment. I was just glad I could look at him and not at Sean.
I wondered who Sean’s date was.
I wondered if he was fucking her.
I wondered if he liked her better than he liked me.
I smiled and fluttered my eyelashes and put my hand on John’s arm for the ten minutes before the ballet started. I knew I was playing it up more than I normally would have. I knew it was for Sean’s benefit. I knew I wanted Sean to think that I was thrilled to be here with John and I’d had no second thoughts about standing him up last Wednesday night.
I knew all those feelings were rather petty and immature.
But I couldn’t seem to help it.
I had to prove to Sean—and maybe to myself—that I’d made the right decision. And that he wasn’t as important to me as he’d thought he’d been.
It was important that this was clear. To both of us.
John didn’t seem to mind. He even put his arm around my shoulders as the lights started to go down.
I should have been thrilled by the gesture.
Instead, I kept brooding about what Sean was thinking right now and how much he was touching that blonde.
The ballet was beautiful, and I made myself pay attention to it, focusing my mind on what I was seeing and hearing instead of on the impossible man in the box across the theater from me.
At intermission I was ready for the break. Mostly because I was exhausted from making myself focus so diligently and not look over at Sean for the past hour and fifteen minutes.
I stood up, ready to stretch my legs and go to the bathroom. But John didn’t want to leave our seats. He said he hated fighting the crowds. I absolutely had to use the bathroom, so I had to go one way or the other. After an extended discussion about it, I went alone to follow the slow wave of exiting people and get into the endless line for the women’s restroom.
It had taken me a long time to get out of the theater, so I was very far back in the line.
I was afraid the ballet would start up again before I got into a stall.
The middle-aged woman in line in front of me was friendly, so we chatted about the ballet and why planners and architects couldn’t design more stalls for women’s bathrooms. After a few minutes, her husband came over to stand with her, having already used the men’s room himself and then stopped at one of the stands where they were selling drinks and snacks.
He’d bought her white wine in a little plastic cup and a chocolate petit four that looked so delicious my mouth actually watered.
Her husband kept her company as the line made its slow progression forward.
I’ll admit it. I was jealous. Of both the kindness of the man and the petit four.
If I got through the bathroom line in time, I was going to buy a petit four for myself.
As I waited, I glanced around, but I didn’t see either Sean or his beautiful blond date.
Maybe the box seats had a private restroom or something.
I daydreamed about John showing up beside me suddenly, having braved the crowds to see if I was okay. He’d buy me a glass of wine and a petit four, and he would stay beside me the rest of the time. He would put his hand on the small of my back in that special way I’d always noticed from other men—the simple gesture that said she’s with me, I’m here for her, nothing is going to touch her.
I kept daydreaming, but it never happened.
John remained in his seat, safe from the dangerous crowds.
He was probably playing on his phone while I was still waiting in line, trying not to pee in my pants.
There was an elderly lady near the end of the line. I noticed her because she was making gestures at someone across the lobby. I looked to see, and the man she was gesturing to must be her husband. He was just as old as she was, and he’d found the edge of a bench to sit on. There was a walker beside him, which he must use to walk. He and his wife were making faces at each other in a very clear silent conversation about how long the line was to use the restroom.
I kept watching them—for no good reason.
After what felt like forever, I finally made it into a stall. The lights flickered to signal the end of intermission when I was washing my hands. I hurried. I could probably make it back before the second half of the ballet started up.
No time for a petit four though.
As I was walking through the emptying second-floor lobby, I saw the woman who’d been in front of me in line. She and her husband were holding hands as they made their way back into the theater.
I don’t know why I noticed it, but I did.
It made a knot in my stomach tighten.
Because I was distracted, I wasn’t looking around, and so I was shocked when someone grabbed my hand and pulled me into an alcove.
Obviously, that person was Sean.
Who else would pull me into a private corner like that without warning?
I stared up at him, breathless and flushed and disoriented.
He had me pressed up against a wall, and he was gazing down at me with those lovely, clever green eyes—eyes that right now looked strangely urgent.
“What?” I demanded when I found my voice and he hadn’t yet said anything.
He just kept staring at me, his body so close it was brushing against mine.
“What exactly do you want?” My voice didn’t sound nearly as cool as I wanted it to be.
“You didn’t show up last Wednesday,” Sean murmured thickly.
I blinked. “No. I didn’t. I told you I wouldn’t.”
“I waited for you.”
My heart jumped foolishly, and I had to talk myself down by reminding myself that Sean had been waiting to have sex with me. Nothing else. “I had a good time with you, Sean. I really did. But I want more than that. You know I do.”
“And you’re getting it now? All your dreams are coming true?”
I had no idea how to answer that question. My dreams were coming true, but it wasn’t what I’d thought it would be.
I let out a breath to relax the tension in my chest before I replied. “Whether my dreams are coming true isn’t really your business, Sean.”
A little light flickered in his eyes just then, as if something had made him happy. “The jackass isn’t who you thought he was. You’re starting to see that, aren’t you?”
And that just made me mad.
I clenched my hands at my side and snapped, “And that’s not your business either.”
“When are you going to admit it?”
“Don’t you have a gorgeous date to be getting back to?” I demanded.
His eyes seemed to caress my face, but it was fierce rather than gentle. “Are you jealous?”
Of course I was jealous.
Of course I was.
I’d had Sean every other Wednesday for four months. He’d been mine to talk to, to touch, to make me feel good.
And now he wasn’t.
Now he was someone else’s.
I wasn’t about to admit this to him, however. I wasn’t that much of a fool. “No, I’m not jealous. I have my own date. Remember? With the man I love.”
I’d intended that last sentence as a kind of weapon, but there was only the smallest trace of a flicker in Sean’s expression, so I didn’t think the words had struck very deep.
He didn’t love me.
He wasn’t going to be wounded because I told him I loved someone else.
He didn’t respond with words though, so I kept going. “And can I point out that this is very clearly breaking our contract? If one of us ended our arrangement, the other wasn’t allowed to initiate contact afterward.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
I believed him. “I know that. I didn’t mean coming to the ballet. I meant dragging me into this corner like this.”
“So you’re saying you weren’t going to try to find a way to talk to me tonight?”
My eyes widened dramatically. “Of course not!”
As strange as it was, this response seemed to have more effect on him than anything else. The tight urgency in his expression twisted strangely, and he exhaled in a way that made his demeanor appear to droop.
Like he was hurt or disappointed.
It confused me.
Rattled me.
Made ridiculous tears burn in my eyes.
Afraid I was going to fall apart completely, I rasped, “What exactly do you want from me, Sean? What do you want?”
If I’m being absolutely truthful, I’d have to admit that there was the tiniest part of me that wanted him to declare feelings, confess that he wanted me for more than just hot sex every other Wednesday night.
I knew better than to really believe it would happen, but a tiny, forgotten part of my heart wanted it badly.
But Sean didn’t say anything at all.
Instead, he made a low sound in his throat and leaned down into a hard kiss.
The kiss surprised me. Shocked me. And so I didn’t respond immediately.
But as soon as I processed that his lips were on mine, one of his hands in my hair and the other on the small of my back, his delicious heat warming me all the way to my core, then I started to kiss him back.
There was no way I could help it. Everything inside me wanted to do it.
I had to kiss him.
I had to.
It was more important at that moment than breathing.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and arched into him eagerly. His tongue slid into my mouth, teasing and taunting mine until they were dancing together. His hand slid down so it was cupping my bottom, and I lifted one of my legs through the slit in my skirt so I could wrap one leg around his and feel him more completely.
He was hard against me. Already. And I was throbbing with arousal too.
“Fuck, Ash,” Sean muttered, dropping his head to the curve of my neck and nipping over my pulse point. “Why weren’t you there on Wednesday night?”
This time the words weren’t really an accusation. They were more like a plea.
I fisted my hands in the fabric of his jacket, needing to hold on to something, anything, so my whole body wouldn’t fly apart.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he said against my skin.
I’d missed him too. So much. And he would have to know it from my shameless response to him right now. I was practically grinding myself against him.
In public.
We were out of the line of sight of most of the lobby, and the ballet had already started, the music drifting out to where we stood.
But someone could easily see us here.
See me. With Sean Doyle. Surrendering to his advances because I craved his touch so much.
When I had a date sitting just inside the theater.
And so did he.
That thought was bitter enough to pierce through the fog of lust in my head. I released the fistfuls of his jacket I’d been clutching and flattened my hands on his shoulders to give a little push.
Barely a push at all.
He stopped though. Immediately. He didn’t back up. He stood very tensely, panting loudly, his eyes closed—until he’d controlled whatever he was feeling.
Then he took a step back.
Maybe the same thought had struck him as had hit me the moment before.
We shouldn’t be doing this.
I opened my mouth to say something, but there was absolutely nothing to say.
So I just walked away from him.
I walked quickly, stumbling a little since my mind and body were still spinning. I couldn’t go back into the theater yet. I was flushed and flustered and upset. So I headed toward the bathrooms.
The lobby was mostly empty now, and there wasn’t a line at the restroom. I noticed the elderly man who’d been sitting on the bench was using his walker to stand up, and when I turned my head I saw why.
His wife was just coming out of the restroom. He’d waited for her the whole time, even though the ballet had started a few minutes ago.
There were tears in my eyes when I hurried into a stall, and I hugged my arms to my chest and shook for a few minutes, telling myself to get it together.
I couldn’t let Sean mess up what I might have with John.
John was who I’d always wanted.
And then I couldn’t help but think of one more thing.
John hadn’t even come to look for me even though I’d been gone for ages now.
My throat felt full and tight still, even after I took deep breaths and then blew my nose. I left the stall and washed my hands and told myself I’d feel better about everything soon.
I left the restroom for the second time and was heading to the theater when someone stopped me again.
It was Sean, and this time he stopped me by simply saying, “Ash.”
I turned around to face him, preparing for another argument.
He didn’t give me one. Instead, he handed me a business card.
I noticed he was also holding something else, but my attention was caught by the card he’d handed me. It was his standard business card—the kind he must hand out to anyone he’d made professional contact with. It had his office number and business email listed. But on the top he’d scrawled another phone number.
It must be his personal number.
We weren’t supposed to touch base with each other outside of Wednesday nights. That had always been one of the most important rules of our liaisons. We had never even exchanged phone numbers.
I stared at the card for several seconds until my eyes finally lifted to his face.
He looked almost sheepish as he murmured, “Let me know if you change your mind.”
My lips parted slightly. I couldn’t say anything.
Then Sean handed me what was in his other hand.
One of those lovely chocolate petit fours on a little napkin.
“They’re really good,” he murmured.
I took the tiny cake, washed with feeling so intense it shuddered through me.
Sean looked for a moment like he would say something else, but then his features twisted and he turned away.
He strode back to the box seat entrance, and I stood in the middle of the lobby like an idiot.
I did eat the petit four. It was delicious.
When I finally got back to my seat, John leaned over and said into my ear, “That must have been a long line.”
***
A FEW HOURS LATER, John and I were at his downtown apartment.
His tongue was in my mouth, and his hand was under my top, cupping my breast over my bra. I was pushed into the corner of his couch, and he was basically on top of me.
And I didn’t like it.
At all.
We’d gone to get something to eat after the ballet, and then we’d headed over to his apartment for a drink since, as he’d said, mine was too far away.
That was how we’d ended up like this.
He’d kissed me, and I wanted to be kissed by him, so I’d responded.
He didn’t make me feel the way Sean did, but I tried to reason out that it wasn’t fair to make the comparison.
Sean had a lot of practice in making love to me. He knew what I liked.
John didn’t.
But the thing was, John didn’t even try. He didn’t seem to make any attempt to find out what worked for me, the ways I liked to be touched. He didn’t appear to be gauging my reactions or even really paying attention to me.
He was kind of dry humping me now, his weight uncomfortable and claustrophobic.
And I swear I couldn’t even tell if he knew the woman he was doing this to was me.
A lot of guys were like that. I knew they were. John wasn’t being rough or mean or even particularly obnoxious.
He was just focused on what he was feeling and not on me.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to compare John to Sean, but I simply couldn’t help it. Even that first night we’d spent together, when we’d barely known each other at all, Sean had been better than this. And I understood why. He’d always recognized he was in bed with another human being and not just a life-sized doll who was there to get him off.
So as I lay against the corner of the couch with John on top of me, squeezing one of my breasts like it was a stress ball, I had to finally admit the truth to myself.
I hadn’t really been in love with John for the past three years. I’d been in love with the idea of John I’d made up in my head. My feelings had been real, but the object of those feelings hadn’t been.
Sean had been right from the very beginning. John wasn’t who I thought he was.
He was nice enough and smart and handsome and a decent conversationalist, but there had been all these little details along the way that should have clued me in earlier.
There might always be little things that bug in a relationship—nobody is perfect, and expecting perfection means never finding anyone—but enough little things eventually add up to a full picture.
John wasn’t who I wanted him to be.
Some men are like John—decent but selfish at heart. A lot of men are like him.
But not all men.
Some men would stand in line with their wives when they’re waiting to use the restroom, they’d bring her wine and a petit four so she wouldn’t miss out. Some men would wait on a bench, even after the ballet starts up again, until his wife finally comes out of the bathroom.
Some men wouldn’t stay in their seats because they didn’t want to fight the crowds.
And some men would know that I wasn’t into this make-out session without my having to say something.
I did say something.
I put a hand on John’s shoulder and pushed him away from me, murmuring, “John, wait.”
He pulled away, panting. “What?”
“This isn’t... this isn’t working for me.”
“What isn’t?”
I gave a vague gesture. “This.”
He frowned and straightened up. “Why not?”
Why not?
He was actually asking me why not.
“I don’t know. It just isn’t working.”
“So what then? You want to stop?” He didn’t look a bit happy about this possibility.
I hesitated. We could try it again. I could give him some direction on the kind of kissing and touching that worked for me.
But the truth was I didn’t want to bother.
I knew—I knew—this wasn’t going anywhere. So why should both of us waste any more time.
I’d already wasted three years on the man.
So I said, “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
A few minutes later, I was leaving John’s apartment, and I knew he wasn’t going to ask me out again.
***
THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE bad. I spent Sunday cocooned at home, crying and watching movies and trying to reconcile myself to the fact that all my dreams had been based in thin air.
It was a real loss for me, no matter how foolish I’d been to believe in those dreams. I had to come to grips with the loss before I started to move on.
I went into work on Monday, and I didn’t see John at all. I didn’t know if he was avoiding me or if I was avoiding him—but it didn’t really matter which it was.
On Tuesday, I was feeling more like myself, tired and sad but not about to fall apart.
And on Wednesday morning, I kept looking at Sean’s business card.
I didn’t have John anymore. I didn’t even have the dream of John.
But I’d loved those evenings with Sean.
Even though I still wanted a real relationship, which Sean could never offer me, surely I was allowed to have some fun before I found it.
It had seemed like Sean still wanted our Wednesday nights to continue.
I brooded about it all morning as I worked.
And by lunchtime I’d finally made up my mind.
He would get to tease me and say he told me so, but I could live with that.
I was too nervous to call him, so I punched his number into my phone to send a text message.
It was only a few words.
I’ve changed my mind.
It knew it wouldn’t last forever, but for right now second best was what I wanted.