These Boots Weren't Made for Walking Read Free Page A

expression. “Didn't you feel it was ending too?”
    I just shrugged. I wasn't sure what I felt—well, other than that I'd just been hit by another truck, this one even bigger than the last.
    “I really do like you, Cassie. But it's just not there, you know?”
    Now I really studied him.
“What's
just not there?” I demandedas the past few years flashed before my eyes: all I'd done, all I'd tried to be just to make this selfish man happy. “What are you talking about?”
    “You and me,” he said quietly. “It's just not there.”
    Anger began to bubble in me as I recalled some recent tension between us. I remembered how Eric had begun pressuring me a couple of months ago, saying that he needed more out of our relationship. Of course, he only mentioned this when we were kissing, when things were getting pretty hot and passionate. And, of course, that's when I would remind him in my most tempting and seductive voice, “Sure, Eric. You can have more, but not until our wedding night.”
    Well, that usually shut things down pretty quickly, which worked for me. Yes, I'm one of those old-fashioned girls, and while I don't go around saying this out loud, I happen to believe the guy's not going to buy the cow when he can get the milk for free—not that I'm particularly fond of that unflattering metaphor. But the truth was, for the most part (at least when Eric wasn't all worked up and eager), he agreed with me on this basic concept. Or so it seemed. Suddenly I was starting to wonder.
    Eric shook his head sadly, reminding me of a doctor who'd just given a hopeless prognosis or pronounced a patient dead. “We're just not right for each other, Cassie.”
    “We've been going together for more than three years, Eric.” My voice ratcheted up to an obnoxiously tight and high-pitched level. I felt that I was about to cry or explode or perhaps even throwsomething at him. “And you decide
now
that we're not right for each other?”
    He looked down at the floor. My dingy brown carpet was littered with magazines, junk mail, dirty socks, stray shoes, and even some shattered potato chips that must ve escaped me during the recent eating binge. Lovely.
    “Eric,” I persisted, unwilling to let this relationship slip away gracefully. My anger was growing hotter, as was my assurance that I had this man pegged. “Is this because I said no to sex?” I looked direcdy into his eyes, wanting to hear the truth—even if it cut like a knife. Hopefully, he'd finish me off quickly.
    He looked away now. “No, Cassie, it's not about sex.”
    I considered this. Would he lie to me? Eric was a basically honest man, a basically good man. He and I were both fairly strong Christians and went to a pretty cool church, and he was very involved in the singles’ group that we both attended. In fact, he was recendy made a leader at our church, second in command to the pastor who oversees all the young-adult ministries. But our church also happens to be a Bible-believing church that doesn't condone premarital sex. Oh, they never turn people of other opinions away, but they expect their leaders to respect the “rules” if they want to remain in leadership. And while I fully realized that Eric wasn't perfect, I was a little surprised at the way he'd been pressuring me about sex the past couple of months—or so it seemed. I suppose it all hit me as a bit hypocritical.
    “Then what is this really about, Eric?”
    He looked away again, more quickly this time, as if he was getting really uncomfortable. Perhaps he was sorry about this, or maybe Fd hit a nerve. That's when I sensed something in his expression, something I don't think Fd ever witnessed in this guy before. It smelled like guilt.
    “Is there another girl?” I demanded.
    He looked back at me with surprised eyes. “Who have you been talking to?”
    “There is, isn't there?”
    “Oh, Cassie.” He slowly shook his head, but his expression reminded me of that cartoon cat Sylvester whenever the