Page 30 of Run to Me

Pushing against his chest with my shoulder, I say, “Stop. Don’t say things like that.” I can’t bear it.

“It’s true,” he insists.

I rub the space between my eyes, clearing Vera’s bitterness and Jensen’s nonsense from my head. “What are you even doing here?”

“I check on her sometimes. Thought I’d stop by before Tate’s show tonight. It’s a good thing I did.”

“You have better things to do. Like getting ready for the show. It’s gonna be huge.”

He touches his forehead to my temple, and his breath dances across my cheek. “I’m right where I need to be.”

“Jensen.” My sigh sounds more like a whimper.

“I mean it, Maisy. Nothing on this earth is more important than you.”

“Let go of me. Please,” I beg.

Exhausted, I give him a weak shove to escape his physical hold, though we both know I’m speaking of his emotional one. As expected, he doesn’t budge.

“Five minutes,” he whispers in my ear. “Just five.”

I’m irritated that he showed up here, shut down my tantrum, and now has the audacity to demand his five fucking minutes. I pull back so I can look him straight in the eye while delivering a cutting truth.

“Five minutes may not seem like much to you, but believe me, it’s a long time. And it goes by painfully slow when your heart’s being broken. I would know. We sat in this exact spot when you did it the first time.”

His eyelids collapse shut under the weight of his regret. “Birdie.”

The way he groans my name sounds dangerous and tempting, made worse because he’s squeezing my inner thigh and smells like a sinful mistake. I need out of this situation. Now.

“I want to make everything right between us,” he says.

“There is no us, Jensen. There never was.” My unyielding tone forces him to loosen his grip, allowing me to break free. I rise to my feet and retreat several paces to safety. “I need to go. Tate’s waiting for me.”

“I’m waiting for you, Maisy,” he calls as I slip into the car. The engine drowns out anything else he says before I slam the door and speed away.

“Oh my gosh! Were you crying?” Tatum asks when I lumber into her bedroom at Pam’s house.

Bypassing her outstretched arms, I fall face down on her bed and let out a long groan. “Apparently, I’m a crier now,” I mumble into a pillow. Shades of blue decorate her small room, a choice I’ve never understood since her favorite color is purple.

A heavy weight drapes across my back, squishing me into the mattress. The weight smells an awful lot like bergamot and a pain in my ass.

“Get off me,” I grumble to Graham.

“I’m comforting you,” he says. “Like a sexy weighted blanket.”

“You’re suffocating me.”

“Maisy.” Tatum’s voice drips with concern. She joins us on the bed and snuggles next to me. “Was it your mom?”

I turn my head and meet her blue gaze. “Isn’t it always?”

Graham whispers in my ear, “You smell like a man. It’s a distinct smell. Like a unique blend of muscles and mega⁠—”

“Get off!” I yell, pushing up with my butt as hard as I can.

He laughs and rolls to the side, sandwiching me between him and Tatum.

“What? What did I miss?” She darts her eyes between us, eager to be in the know.