What if she wants to hook up again?
My chest aches with wanting and my heart beats a little faster, a little harder. I prop my hands behind my head, and then move them back to my chest. I turn on my side, fluffing the pillow, but it’s not comfortable enough and I switch to the other side, making so many micro-adjustments that eventually I punch the pillow and chuck it across the room.
Fuck it. I need to go on a run. I can’t keep sitting here with my thoughts whirling like a fucking prize wheel.
I want to bang on Abby’s door and beg her to put me out of my misery. Does she want me? Does she regret this? Does she feel as desperate to be near me as I do her?
I’m not going to wake her up for my mental chaos. A run will make me feel better; it always does.
Shoes tied, headlamp on, I take to the beach for a late-night run. Normally, I work a run in at the end of my day, but I stayed late at the house today and gave the painters a hand so we could finish painting the upstairs. By the time I got back to the resort, I was wiped. I didn’t need to go on a run, and frankly all I wanted was to have a beer and soak in the hot tub.
I got more than I bargained for, and after an evening with Abby, I’ve got a second wind and more energy than I know what to do with.
I stay on firmer sand to protect my knee, but as I ease into the run, the steady rhythm of my feet hitting the sand becomes meditative, and once my heart rate is up, all those excess thoughts finally have somewhere to go. I sweat them out. I breathe them out. I force them out through the movement of my body.
A half-hour is all I need before I feel steady again. I can think clearly about Abby and how to move around her.
The version of me Abby knew back in college was closed off. I hated having difficult conversations, because I had no capacity for them. I was consumed by the emotional toll my recently broken family had taken on me.
But I’m not that guy anymore, and I want her to see that. Maybe if she sees that I’m different than I was when we dated in college, she’ll want to spend time with me. She wanted something tonight, I have no doubt about that, and I wanted it too.
But I don’t want it to end here. I don’t just want chance conversations at beach parties or run-ins at the hot tub. I wantquality, intentional time with her. Half her time here is already gone, and I don’t want to waste another second of it.
I’m not the kind of man who wants something and lets it float by. I have always found a way to get what I want. And I want Abby. If all I get is five more days at the White Sands Resort with her, then by god, I am going to make it fucking count.
“How didit go at the investor meeting?”
My brother texted me seconds ago, letting me know his Saturday morning meeting was done and asking if I could call. I was on another run, since my workout didn’t feel like enough this morning. Destiny wasn’t there to push me, and while I’ve tried to relax all day, sit by the pool, soak up some sun, have a few beers, my mind wouldn’t let me. Eventually, I gave in and laced up for another beach run.
I haven’t seen Abby yet, which means we haven’t talked today, and it’s got me all kinds of messed up.
It’s hot as fuck out—the afternoon sun in Mexico is no joke—and I can feel my back burning from where I’ve sweat off all my sunscreen, but it’s good. It feels like it’s burning away all my excess energy.
“Well, hello to you too,” Gray says. He’s trying to be upbeat, but I can hear the strain in his voice. If he notices my heavy breathing, he doesn’t say anything. I pause, leaning over to clutch my knees and catch my breath.
“So?”
He sighs.
Fuck.
“It was the same as the last two,” he says, all the optimism gone now.
“Fuck, Gray, I’m so sorry.”
After the first rejection, Gray assumed that the design of the app was too simple and didn’t fully embody the functionality of the app, so he hired a different developer to help him overhaul things. The second time around, he felt way more confident, yet was shot down once again.
I thought he’d quit after that. He was down bad after that rejection, but I convinced him to keep going. And since I’m his sole investor, he has to listen to me.
He did. He took my third infusion of cash and made the app even better. He did more research on the investors. Chose people who have invested in other travel apps before. Both of us thought the third time would be the charm.
“I don’t know what to do, Miles. You’ve spent so much money on?—”
“Don’t worry about the money. I can always make more money,” I insist.
“But watching me fail like this…”
It’s painful, but probably not in the way he thinks. My brother and I were close as kids. Even with our four-year age gap, from the time he was old enough to move, he was following me around and I loved it. He wanted to follow me and I wanted to lead him. We’d wear matching PJs and play with all the same toys. Well, we’d fight over all the same toys. We’d tear up every playground we visited, not playing with any of the other kids, just each other. Even when I got to high school, I never felt like I was too cool to hang out with my brother. He’s always made me laugh and was a hell of a lot smarter than me, so he’d help me in school and I’d teach him everything I knew about hockey. He played for a while because I played it, but he wasn’t very good and swore up and down that he preferred to watch the game than play it.
