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Shaking her head, she makes a face of total disgust. “Please tell me you’re not in love with that asshole.”
Despite that my head feels like the aftermath of a nuclear explosion, despite that my sister has gone full-on Mean Girls on steroids, a wide involuntary grin spreads across my face. “I am so in love I…” The force of my emotions frightens me, makes me breathless. “I can’t imagine a life without him…I don’t ever want to be without him ever again.”
My sister rolls her eyes.
“And don’t call him an asshole or I’ll pull your hair out. He’s Mr. Asshole to you. Show a little respect.”
“How about Sir Asshole?” Blank-faced, she stares back at me. Then slowly, very slowly, a sly grin overtakes her face. “You can thank me later. Go catch your flight.”
It takes a minute for my foggy brain to catch up, still showing only two bars.
“You’re insane. You know that, right?” I snort and laugh. Tears fill my eyes and she smiles. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
“Yes. Now get going,” she says, all proud of her acting job. I walk around the desk and hug her, bumping into equipment and furniture. Pulling away, she says, “What do I tell him when he asks about you?”
I should let him marinate in what he did…I really should. “Tell him I went to pack my things and I’ll be back in a few days.”
* * *
Noah
Yesterday turned into a major clusterfuck. That’s not how she was supposed to find out. I was going to explain––everything. In a time of my choosing, preferably after she was knocked unconscious from the three or ten orgasms I had planned on giving her. Then when she was good and soft and sweet in my arms, I was going to big-picture it for her. Explain how no man has ever loved a woman more and that I couldn’t stand to be apart from her for another second…that was the plan. Then again, why do I bother makin’ plans when my life rarely turns out the way I plan it.
I checked the house this morning and she was gone. I left a thousand voicemails and she hasn’t returned a single one. I even tried calling Annabelle and her phone went straight to voicemail. I’m officially worried.
“Annabelle,” I call out, jogging to reach her truck in the school parking lot. Annabelle looks up, hand raised to unlock her door. Her pale blue gaze sharpens. Why do I get the feeling she was expecting me?
“Hey,” I say reaching her. “Did you get my message?”
“Oh, I got it.”
Yep––she spoke to Maren. Sighing, I quietly plead, “Where is she?”
“Gone.”
The word rattles around my head. It takes me a minute to process what she’s telling me. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“Gone as in fled the scene of the crime. As in Gone Girl without the staged murder that will land you on death row. Although, after what she told me you did to her you probably deserve it.”
“She left!” My heart bangs against my ribs hard and fast. The rhythm offbeat. Like it’s fucking broken.
“Back to London for good. You screwed the pooch one too many times, bud, and the pooch left town. She’s on the late flight to New York and then it’s bye, bye US.”
Late flight…I have time. Without another word, I bolt to my car.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maren
I exit the first class lounge and pull the brim of my ball cap low, pop in my ear buds. People recognize me in airports more than any place else. At the gate, I’m handing the flight attendant my boarding pass when a swath of camouflage catches my eye. By the uniform, I want to say Army; a soldier. With his leg in a walking boot, on crutches he hobbles to a chair near the gate and sits.
The sight of him grabs my heart and won’t let go. This will be a five-hour flight because of the stop in Atlanta. Traveling in those small coach seats with a cast will be brutal. And he’s by no means a small guy.
“Wait,” I murmur to the attendant who’s about to scan my first class boarding pass. Feeling my interest, the young soldier looks up at me and smiles.
“I want him to have my seat,” I tell the attendant and hold up my boarding pass.
She hesitates for only a moment before nodding. Then she walks over to him, and leans down to inform him of the change of plans. Surprise registers on his face. An argument takes place but it looks like the attendant convinces him to do it. He glances my way one more time with a big, embarrassed grin and gets up with a little help from the attendant.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t recognize me. “It’s my pleasure––really,” I affirm and lift my cast. “I can relate.”
