Chapter 8: Gia

My shoulders slump as I crumble completely. "Okay." Before he can respond, I add, "But only for a few minutes. I have plans with Sophie."

Actually, the only plans I have are with the bathtub, my bed, and a steaming cup of coffee. But Tyler doesn't need to know that.

As we move up the walkway, I take out my key before shoving it in the lock and throwing open the front door. Under normal circumstances, I love coming home. I've spent the last five years renovating and decorating. I have everything exactly the way I want it. From the wooden porch that takes up the entire width of the front and the swing my brother, Noah, helped hang to the tiny backyard with its flower beds and neatly manicured lawn.

Tyler closes the door behind us as I set my purse on top of the antique credenza I found at a flea market two years ago and repainted. If memory serves me correctly, I believe Tyler was working that Sunday morning.

Once inside the foyer, his attention slides over me again and I shift beneath his intense perusal. A dull flush crawls up my cheeks as I head into the living room before beelining to an armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Casually, I do a sniff test and hope that I don't reek of the best sex I've ever experienced in my life before settling as far from him as I can get and still be in the same room.

I'm tempted to hop into the shower for a quick wash, but I'm half afraid Tyler might ask to join me. I wouldn't put it past him. Not with how much he's been texting and calling. I think he'd like nothing more than to catch me in a moment of weakness and sweet talk his way back into my life.

An awkward silence falls over us as I wait for my ex to get this conversation started. He is the one, after all, who decided to camp out at my house at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning.

With his feet spread, he rests his elbows on his knees before glancing around the living room. "You moved things around."

After Tyler and I parted ways, and he took what little he had brought over, I'd felt the need to change things up. I rearranged the furniture and did a bit of redecorating.

"Yes," I say with a nod.

His brows draw together as he studies all the subtle changes I've made in his two-month absence. "I like it."

"Thanks." Surprised by the admission, some of the tension drains from my shoulders. For a moment, I wonder if he's trying to butter me up. Little does he realize that it's not going to work. I'm happy on my own and sadly, since Tyler worked a lot of hours, his absence isn't as glaringly apparent as it should be.

I shift on the chair, impatient to get this chat over with. He continues to study his surroundings as I silently wait for his gaze to meander to me. When it does, I notice the sadness brimming in his eyes.

"I miss you, Gianna," he admits. "I miss us. Nothing has been the same without you." Softly, he adds, "I never should have let you go. As stupid as it sounds, I didn't realize what I'd had until it was gone."

I can only blink at the admission. Had he said this to me a week-even two-after we'd broken up, I probably would have taken him back. At that point, everything had been so fresh, and I was missing him. Our relationship hadn't been all bad. Tyler and I got along pretty well. What we had was comfortable and solid. My biggest bone of contention was that he was gone all the time.

And...well...the sex. It was mediocre. Routine at best. After that first year, there was absolutely no changing things up. No spice. It was like a well-orchestrated program. One we didn't deviate from. Twenty minutes, two times a week.

Should I have pushed for more?

Tried to be creative and inventive?

Probably. But in my defense, I didn't realize how amazing sex could be before last night.

Know what else I can't shake from my mind?

That I'd never experienced any of those little zings of attraction. In fact, I didn't believe they existed. Before Liam, I assumed all the attraction and ridiculously hot sex you read about in romance novels was a huge, steaming load of crapola.

But that's exactly what it had felt like.

The moment our gazes collided, electricity had shot through my body. I've never felt such an instantaneous attraction to someone before. It's unfortunate that the guy is still in college and so much younger than I am.

When I remain silent, lost in the turmoil of my thoughts, Tyler asks, "Did you hear what I said, Gianna? I love you. I want you back, baby." He sucks in a breath before finishing with a heartfelt, "I want us back."

Everything inside me tenses. "Gia," I remind in a stiff tone, "I want to be called Gia."

At first, I hadn't been bothered by Tyler calling me by my given name instead of my nickname. Except, I'd always preferred Gia. For the first year or so, I let it slide. After all, it wasn't a big deal. Certainly not a sticking point worth arguing over. But every time the name rolled off his lips and I corrected him, it morphed into a larger issue.

"I love your name," he responds, clearly not understanding my ire. "You know that, baby."

"I do," I acknowledge, "but I prefer Gia." And he knows it. We've talked about it. Numerous times. Which is ridiculous. It's my name. Just call me by it. Is that really so difficult?

"It's such a beautiful name and it fits you so well. Much better than Gia," he attempts again.

His stubbornness on the issue only strengthens my resolve regarding our relationship. It also makes what I'm about to say a lot easier. "Tyler, this isn't going to work. You and I...we're just too different. That's not a criticism," I tack on hastily. "It's just the way things are. I'm not a good fit for you."

Believe me, I've already tried playing the whole-it's not you, it's me card.

He promptly brushed it aside.

Fine, I'll admit it then-it's you.

It is definitely you.

His brows draw together. "How can you say that? We're perfect for each other. We've always gotten along so well. We hardly ever fought."

That's true. We didn't fight very often. The caveat being that he wasn't around that much. When we did happen to disagree on a particular subject, Tyler was an expert at steamrolling over my opinion. And I let him because it was easier that way. Easier to give in and keep the peace. So, in his mind, I'm sure we got along perfectly.

Exasperation bursts inside me like an overinflated balloon. "Tyler, I wasn't happy with how things were between us."

He leans forward before angling his body toward mine. He clenches his hands together until the knuckles turn bone white. A desperateness fills his hazel eyes that I'm not used to seeing. "I can change, Gian-"

My eyes narrow as I give him a sharp look. He promptly corrects himself as a slight flush stings his cheeks.

"Gia." The edges of his lips curl up into a half-hearted smile. "See? Things can be different from now on. I promise."

Unsure what to say, I press my lips together. As I attempt to formulate a response, Tango saunters into the living room before stopping short to eyeball the interloper who now sits in what he has claimed as his cushion on the couch.

My ex's eyes widen as he stares at the sleek black animal. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a cat," I reply calmly as if it couldn't be any more obvious.

His horror-filled gaze darts to mine before he whispers in a strangled voice, "When did you get a cat?"

I bite my lip before admitting, "A few weeks ago." Tango may be a new addition, but he's quickly become my fur baby. And guess what else? He's around way more than Tyler ever was, and he doesn't take up nearly as much space on the bed. Or steal the covers in the middle of the night.

So yeah, Tango is staying.

He continues to eye the cat as if it's a ticking time bomb on the verge of exploding. "I'm allergic to cats."

About that...

"I know."