Wrong Text, Right Love Read online

  Contents

  Also By Claudia Burgoa

  1. Him

  2. Her

  3. Her

  4. Him

  Chapter 5

  6. Her

  7. Him

  8. Her

  9. Podcast Week 1 Season 3

  10. Her

  11. Him

  12. Her

  13. Her

  14. Her

  Chapter 15

  16. Podcast Week 3 Season 3

  Chapter 17

  18. Her

  19. Him

  Chapter 20

  21. Her

  22. Her

  23. Podcast Week 6 Season 3

  24. Him

  Chapter 25

  26. Her

  27. Him

  28. Him

  29. Her

  30. Him

  31. Her

  32. Him

  33. Her

  34. Him

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also By Claudia Burgoa

  Also By Claudia Burgoa

  The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers Series

  * * *

  Loved You Once

  A Moment Like You

  (August 2020)

  Defying Our Forever

  (October 2020)

  * * *

  Standalones

  * * *

  Wrong Text, Right Love

  Us After You

  Once Upon a Holiday

  Someday, Somehow

  Chasing Fireflies

  Something Like Hate

  Then He Happened

  Maybe Later

  My One Desire

  My One Regret

  Found

  Fervent

  Flawed

  Until I Fall

  Finding My Reason

  Christmas in Kentbury

  * * *

  Chaotic Love Duet

  Begin with You

  Back to You

  * * *

  Unexpected Series

  Uncharted

  Uncut

  Undefeated

  Unlike Any Other

  Decker the Halls

  Copyright © 2020 by Claudia Burgoa

  Cover by: By Hang Le

  Edited by:

  Rebecca Barney

  Kristi Falteisek

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, organizations, media, places, events, storylines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, business establishments, events, locales or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

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  “Two souls are sometimes created together and—and in love before they're born.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald

  One

  Him

  Saturday, April 4th

  “I thought you were like the Beast, but you’re Peter Pan without the green leggings,” Martha yells, shoving my pants against my torso.

  Ok, the Peter Pan reference I get it, but who the fuck is the Beast?

  “Maybe I’m wrong and you’re Rapunzel, waiting for some innocent woman to rescue you from your Ivory tower,” she continues her rant, and I think I get it now. She’s trying to compare me to Disney princes—and even princesses. “Enough is enough. I’m done loving you. I tried and I tried, but you never gave anything back.”

  Whoa, we’re throwing the L word?

  Her next-door neighbor has the door open and is watching the show. I know what this looks like, and I’m pretty sure she’s thinking: The guy being thrown out of the house wearing boxer briefs with ‘I just fucked’ hair means he cheated. Not only that, she caught him.

  Or, there’s a second possibility. He doesn’t want to take the next step.

  Nosy neighbor nods and scrunches her nose, as she confirms her suspicions. This asshole has been stringing this poor woman along for years.

  I could set things straight and put her mind at ease. There’s another side to the story. Martha and I met a few months ago at the grocery store. She was pretty and funny. We exchanged numbers, and after a few texts, we tried to give this friendship a go.

  “We agreed this was just for fun,” I remind Martha.

  “We had more than fun,” she claims.

  For fuck’s sake, why did she believe this could be more? It is always the same. I’ve yet to find a woman who says, “I’m having feelings, and I think we should stop seeing each other.” Throwing words like, “we should move in together,” in the middle of fucking is not the way to move forward.

  Honestly, I just can’t seem to do things right. If I don’t tell them up front that we are only fuck buddies, I get shit when they want more. If I do, they ignore me—because they think they can be my exception.

  A friend of mine says that my issue is due to the way they see me. A lonely, introverted bachelor. Women think they have just the right pussy to save me from my sad life—and change me for the better. First rule about choosing a partner, don’t expect people to change for you. You are only attracted to them and your hormones are wanting more of him—or her.

  That doesn’t mean you are in love. It means you are passionate about them. You are physically attracted, but if you want the person to adapt to your needs and you won’t accept them as they are, that’s definitely not love.

  Love is extremely complicated and should be handled with care. I choose not to deal with it.

  Albert Einstein once said, “You can’t blame gravity for falling in love.”

  I have nothing against relationships. In fact, I had a couple of those during my teens. Love is messy. Relationships are complicated. The logistics to hold onto an emotional partnership is too complex and dreary.

  It requires more than dinner, sex, flowers, and chocolates. Both parties have to agree to more than just monogamy. They have to surrender to one another and walk blindly into a place where they only exist with each other. I can’t imagine the effort that is required to maintain something like that, and to what end?

  Look, it’s not like I’ve been shying away from love. I tried being part of a couple. At fifteen, I dated Wendy Robins. She lived across the street from my home. She was cute. We got to second base, but her family moved when the school year was over. I never heard from her again. At sixteen it was Sandra Boyt, one of my brother’s friends. We had a good time, until I refused to go to prom, and she dumped me for some other dude—I can’t even remember his name.

  At this point in my life, I’m practical. Whe
n I go out with a woman, I tell her right away, This is just sex. I’m not looking for anything permanent.

  The whole concept of forever works for a lot of people—until they break up or divorce.

  Forever is not for me.

  It has nothing to do with some Little Prince syndrome—that’s the technical term for the condition. The Peter Pan syndrome sounds too cliché—and let’s be clear, it’s not a mental illness.

  Why did I adopt this philosophy?

  It’s a combination between my parents’ messy divorce, the fact that I’ve never been in love, and that once upon a time I was named the future of technology. People who I never met flocked around me. It wasn’t easy to tell apart friends from a foe. My circle of trust became microscopic.

  My twin brother insists I’m like this because when we were born I got the brains and he got the heart.

  Maybe he’s right. It’s fucking unbelievable that I’ve never been in love.

  Never.

  Is there such a thing as falling in love and I’m immune to it? I’m the living proof that it is real.

  The other day, I was at the dentist office, and the receptionist was listening to some ‘dating expert’ on talk radio—or maybe it was her computer. It really doesn’t matter. The point is that this woman was discussing the subject of falling in love with her partner—again. I was pretty confused at first, until she explained further about a so-called love cycle.

  According to this ‘authority in love,’ a couple has to keep the flame burning for each other. Tend to their relationship the same way farmers do with their lands. Each season is different. They plant, they water, they harvest, they clean, so next season, they can start all over again. When a caller asked her what falling in love meant, her answer made me laugh.

  According to this ‘expert,’ falling is different from being in love, and it all starts with a feeling that makes someone want to be next to the person. Falling is embracing the out of control, overwhelming emotion that accelerates one’s heart into the speed of light. One knows that they’re in love when they make a special place in their life for that other person.

  Living in love (yes, that’s how she phrased it) is different, though. It means that someone stays willingly with their significant other despite their flaws and even when they drive you crazy.

  If you are in love, you want to stick around the other person, even when you don’t like them at times.

  I wanted to tell her, Lady, your advice is shit. If someone doesn’t like the person they are with, they should move on.

  Why would I choose to be around someone who I can’t stand when it’s clear we are not compatible?

  It’s obvious that woman is from another planet or hasn’t met me. My guess is that she got some fancy degree in shit-talk that allows her to spew crap. She only knows a few people. There are billions of humans in this world, and we don’t all fall in love or even need it to live.

  According to that woman—and maybe all the women I’ve been with—I’m shallow because I can’t see past appearances. It’s not about accepting flaws or loving what’s inside. This world is complicated enough to also be forced to stay around people who don’t make one’s life better.

  I just do what I love the most. Sex.

  Sex is the only reason why I bother finding fuck buddies. Let me tell you, I deliver a fan-fucking-tastic time. But that’s exactly where my problem begins. I was taught to be thoughtful and caring about what’s entrusted to me.

  Women trust me with their bodies, and I do my best to treat them like queens. But it never fails. They always want more. It doesn’t matter that we both agreed it’d be casual. They demand more from me. Then, they urge me to reciprocate their feelings. I’m physically and emotionally incapable of following through with what they want from me.

  In my opinion, love exists. It’s just not for everyone.

  Most of all, it’s not for me.

  Let’s be logical. Not everything in this world is for everyone. We are all different. I am the kind of guy who doesn’t fall in love. I’m not heartless. Just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have one. I’m wired differently.

  Some men struggle to describe what love is. Me? I can’t even feel it. Which brings me to this exact moment when the woman I’ve been fucking for the last couple of months makes the unilateral decision to modify our agreement—and if I don’t comply, it’s over.

  “I thought we had a connection,” she repeats. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

  Can we pause for a second?

  What Martha infers is that I’m the first lover she’s had who isn’t a selfish bastard. I’ll let you in on a little secret. Sex is more enjoyable when you put your partner’s pleasure before your own. Personally, it turns me on to know that the woman I am with is high on endorphins because of me.

  Now, fast forward to this moment. I can tell her one of two things: “You should be careful about who you invite into your bed,” or “I was upfront with you when I said this won’t be more than sex.”

  There’s no use in discussing this any further. It’s over.

  I put on my pants and walk toward the staircase. I slip on my sneakers before climbing down the stairs.

  Why do people complicate everything?

  Life is simple.

  Relationships should be easy, not some crazy affair where you have to play a part. Perhaps that’s why I don’t fit well with anyone. Sometimes, not even my family.

  One thing I can guarantee, I’ll never apologize for being myself.

  Women expect romance. Most of them define romance as all those clichés that happen in chick flicks. Guy running through an airport to ask for forgiveness because he is a dumbass. Or through the streets of Manhattan. Let’s say I follow the entire narrative of romance and make a woman fall in love with me. I mean really fall in love, not just the ‘high on endorphins, please give me another dose because I can’t live without an orgasm’ kind of feeling.

  What happens next?

  I can’t guarantee that I’ll be in love too. And If I do fall, what am I supposed to do with it?

  Hypothetically speaking, I let my guard down, give away my secrets and my entire life to one person. Nothing guarantees that the person I trusted will not come back to destroy me.

  Again, I’m not speaking from experience. Unless my mother counts. She left my father when I was five. However, I’ve witnessed many divorces and broken relationships to know what I’m talking about. I’ve watched people falling apart, helplessly, as their worlds come crashing down.

  In all fairness, I accept that not every relationship ends up in catastrophe. There’s my father’s second marriage. He found a good woman who makes him happy—more like they make each other happy. My stepbrother and his wife are yet another couple who seem to be content. I don’t like them, but they’ve been together for ten years.

  That’s when the theory about soulmates comes into play. Because these couples make it through everything.

  Maybe the idea that there’s one person who imprinted with another before the beginning of time is real. Or, perhaps, it’s some false ideal we want to grab onto so Hallmark can sell more Valentine’s cards during the month of February.

  Either way, I’m not sure how this heart-soulmate-love business works, or if it’s even real. Honestly, I don’t care to find out. The closest I ever got to that moment when a person sees someone and feels like they were punched in the stomach and can barely recover was when I was still living at home.

  There was this girl I used to see around the neighborhood during the holidays. Perfect smile, always wearing colorful clothing. She had a whole happy thing going on for her. Every year, I’d see her around and get that sweaty-hands-heart-pounding feeling. I never knew where she lived. Getting closer would’ve been kind of creepy because she was young or maybe too short.

  Who knows?

  I never met her, and yet, sometimes, I still think about her smile.

&n
bsp; It was contagious.

  When you saw her, you just smiled with her.

  No one has ever made me smile the way she did. Maybe that’s why I can’t open myself to anyone or settle for anything but the best. That feeling that closed up my throat when I saw her… I’ve never felt it again.

  Two

  Her

  Tuesday, May 19th

  Sometimes I pretend the world is a train, and I search for that string you can pull to bring it to a halt. Maybe I just have to shout to the sky, “Stop the world! I’m done with this ride!”

  I’m mostly satisfied with my life. At twenty-eight, I have accomplished more than many people twice my age. There’s nothing I would change, but a break would be nice. I’m grateful I have a wonderful job where I can do almost whatever I want. However, as an influencer, I document most of my life on social media, and it is draining. I won’t admit this to anyone, and I will deny it at gunpoint.

  Only a few hours ago, I was lounging by the beach with my two sisters, having fun. But real life never stops. Just when I thought I was free from all the nonsense, I’m dragged back into the rat race. So far, I’m not amused by the sudden change of pace. I took a red eye flight from Belize to New York City.

  It’s not like I’m not used to flying; I’m just not a fan. Ever since I can remember, I traveled with my parents around the world to wherever they had to work. I barely paid attention to my parents’ job when I was that young. I only knew that we moved from one place to another. They wore funny clothes and visited old places where they searched for clues about what happened throughout history.