Color Her Red Read Free

good-looking gentleman and poof, he’ll ask me. 
    I parted my mouth in disbelief and tried to return a response.  My hesitation was obvious.  I just stood there, staring at him.  My face felt like it was on fire and my mind was racing.  Say something you idiot; don’t blow it!
    “I mean, I think you at least owe me one date.  You did stain my shirt,” he said smoothly with a smirk on his gorgeous face.  He made me blush and saved me from myself.  I couldn’t help but to smile. 
    I knew he was exceptionally handsome and that he looked familiar, but I had no idea who he actually was when I agreed to let him take me to dinner.  In fact, it wasn’t until after our first date when I searched his name online that I realized I had just given a multibillionaire a singular kiss after taking me out to have probably one of the most amazing meals I’d ever eaten.
    The first thing that came to my mind was, “ Thank God I didn’t invite him back to my apartment .”  I was sure he had maids to keep everything tidy and elegant artwork hanging on walls and spacious rooms with cathedral ceilings.  What would he think of my cramped apartment with Ikea furniture littered with manuscripts and crumpled pieces of paper thrown about?  Before I could even worry that I had blown my chance with him by only allowing a single lonely kiss, he sent me a text.
     
    Thank you so much for a lovely evening. 
    X Thomas
     
    Was that single “x” poking fun at the fact I only let him have one peck?  Well, it was way more than a peck, but still.  I waited a full two agonizing minutes to text him back.  I didn’t want to seem desperate, as if waiting two minutes could help me escape that image.
     
    Thank you Thomas, I had a great time.
    XX Emma
     
    I thought I would be cheeky and give him another kiss.  No hug though, I didn’t want to be too lovey-dovey. He immediately sent a message back.  He didn’t seem to care whether or not he appeared desperate. Why should he?  
     
    I’d like to see you again.  Would you join me Saturday?  I have a corporate dinner to attend.  We can go out for a drink afterwards. 
     
    I still remember the overwhelming joy running through my body.  I jumped up and down holding in my screaming delight.  Pounding my fists through the air in triumph.  It may have been a bit obnoxious to my neighbors.  Mrs. Jones from below my apartment started banging on the ceiling, yelling at me to knock it off.  So I sat on my desk chair just hugging myself and then of course I called Kate to inform her how glorious my date was.  I smiled so much that night my cheeks hurt all week. 
     
     
     
     
    THAT WAS THE BEGINNING, a little over two years ago, a year before our wedding.  Just thinking of it makes my heart collapse and my stomach feel hollow.
    Maybe we got married too soon, we should have taken things slower.  We weren’t that young though, mid twenties.  I could have tried harder to be a better wife.  I should’ve tried harder to get pregnant.  I should’ve taken those hormone shots like the doctor said.  It’s my fault we can’t get pregnant, not his.  No! No!   This is NOT my fault!   My rage chimes in overshadowing my melancholy, screaming at me for blaming myself.  Apparently the wine wasn’t enough to completely anesthetize me or the effects are already starting to wear off.   Either way I creep to the edge of the sofa, trying to gather enough strength to stand and sulk to the kitchen. 
    Kate raises her head to look at me.  Her hand moves to her face, gently rubbing residual tears from her cheeks before resting her head on the arm of the sofa. 
    “Where are you going?” she asks warily, her voice strained.  She wrestles with the blanket trying to release her legs.  I can tell she is still concerned for me.  My heart drops to my stomach as I wish I could tell her I am fine and not to worry.  I think about saying those words, but I can’t.  I’m not fine, and she