Page 21 of Run to Me

He sets Maisy on her feet, and I’ve stopped moving altogether, barely breathing at this point. Is she talking about me? My heart rate spikes. Alcohol acts as a truth serum, and Maisy’s had plenty tonight to loosen her tongue. She’s still smiling at me, and I wish to all things holy she wasn’t drunk right now. I wish I could reach for her and care for her, and she’d remember calling me pretty. And hell yes, I want to fuck her, but I want so much more from her than sex. I want everything.

“Come on, little Maisy. Let’s get you in the car,” Graham says.

She juts out her bottom lip and whines. “I don’t want to leave. I want to see J’s dick.”

Hearing the nickname she used to call me causes my racing heart to slam against my rib cage. The guys I grew up with called me Jenny when they were being assholes, but they never shortened my name to an initial. Only Maisy did. It’s been so long since she’s addressed me by that nickname, and it feels so fucking right.

Graham opens the door of a silver sedan parked at the end of the sidewalk. The car must be a rental they share, because I’ve seen both of them driving it. If Maisy had a car, I wouldn’t put it past myself to place a damn tracker on it. That thought tears my gaze from her gorgeous face to the phone in my hand. The locked phone.

If there’s anyone I know better than myself, it’s her. I tap the screen and enter my birthday as the passcode. The phone unlocks, and I’m internally pumping my fist, thrilled she didn’t forget about me like she pretends.

Staring at the apps, the inner voice that aims to please everyone and be perfect in every way says, “Don’t do it.” The voice slithering through my grey area, however, reminds me this could be my big break. In the past, I tried to do right by Maisy, but following the rules cost me everything. Cost me her. So I say…

Fuck the rules.

While Graham struggles to situate her in the passenger seat, and she ponders aloud about my dick, my thumb flies over the phone screen. My phone buzzes in my back pocket as I lock hers. Just in time too. Graham shuts the door and turns to me with a serious expression on his face, all his earlier friendliness gone.

“Do you two have a history?” he asks in a stern tone. A protective tone.

I hold out her belongings, my pulse racing when he checks the phone before dropping it into her purse.

“Not really,” I say.

He rubs a hand across his mouth and studies me for a few seconds too long. The mere power of his thinking face reduces me to an antsy, anxious mess, but I’m an expert at hiding my discomfort.

“You know, there’s no difference between acting and lying. It’s all playing pretend, and some people are better at it than others.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t ever try your hand at acting.”

Graham rounds the car to the driver’s side. As he opens the door, I blurt, “Are you with her?” Fucking really, Jensen? Are we in middle school?

A wicked smirk slashes his face, sharp enough to flay me open, and my stomach tumbles to the curb. “Every night, friend. And believe me, you’re missing out.” He winks before climbing in the car and driving away with my girl passed out next to him.

Overheated, I pace on the sidewalk for several minutes while trying my hardest to get images of Graham and Maisy out of my mind. Once my body temperature regulates itself, and the frigid night air reminds me it’s the dead of winter and I’m in a T-shirt, I rush back inside.

For the first time since I bought Bruno’s, I have no desire to work. The next two hours pass at a slow crawl, and Javi side-eyes me whenever I snap at a customer. After everyone leaves and we lock the doors, I head to my office to proceed with my nightly ritual. Or I plan to, but Javi waltzes through the door and plants himself in a chair.

My office isn’t fancy. There’s a black desk and a bookcase with some awards on display. A second door, which leads upstairs, remains locked at all times. It’s off-limits to everyone but me.

Sighing, I drop into my rolling chair and wait him out. He links his fingers together on his stomach and twirls his thumbs in circles while staring at me. He’s in thinking mode, and for Javi, that can sometimes last for ages.

We make quite the pair as friends. I’m a home-gym rat who enjoys heavy metal, tattoos, and a black wardrobe. He’s a hippie who wears earth tones and claims his naturally tan skin should only be inked by rays from the sun gods.

After waiting too long, the life guru speaks. “She got in your head.”

The aching head he’s referring to falls back. I count the ceiling tiles and blow out a long breath. “She’s always in my head.”

“Something happened. You haven’t been this worked up since…”

Since she banished me.

“Yeah, I know. You don’t have to remind me.” I scrub a hand along my jaw, and my gaze drifts to the faded mandala on Javi’s favorite shirt. He’s had it for years. “She’s been in town a lot. Everything was easier when she wasn’t around.”

His thick eyebrows shoot up. “Was it?”

No.

I’m in a lose-lose situation. When Maisy’s out of reach, I feel empty. Helping people and keeping busy fills the void, which creates a host of issues because I spread myself too thin. Javi’s been trying to coach this behavior out of me, but I refuse to put in the work.

On the other hand, when Maisy’s within reach and shunning me, my mind narrows to a single point of focus. Her presence and my need to fix our relationship consume me, and everything else falls by the wayside.