Page 97 of Run to Me

She looks up at me, our proximity causing her breaths to quicken, drawing my attention to her cleavage in the strapless denim dress she’s wearing.

“What’s up there?” she asks.

I slide a finger between her breasts. “Rotted floors and old bar junk.”

She crinkles her cute nose. “Oh. I’ve always wondered what’s upstairs in these old buildings. Bar junk is a letdown.”

Pressing my mouth to her ear, my voice sounds rough when I say, “It’s dangerous up there, birdie. Off-limits to everyone, especially you. Your safety is too important to me for you to risk getting hurt.”

“Yes, sir,” she purrs playfully, running her hands across my chest.

But there’s nothing playful about my reaction to her calling me sir. I lift her off the floor and sink into my chair with her straddling my lap. My hands slip into her panties and squeeze her ass, and I’ll forever appreciate that she loves to wear dresses. Easy access.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” I ask, kneading her supple flesh.

She’s heading to Las Vegas for a music video project. It’ll be our first test—well, my first test—to see how I handle her being gone for work. If I can survive for more than a decade without her, surely I’ll make it through two full days. This trip will test Maisy as well. Will she communicate with me, or will I be out of sight, out of mind?

“My flight’s in the afternoon.” Her arms circle around my neck, pulling my head close enough to lick the swells of her breasts.

“Stay with me tonight?” I bite a nipple through her dress, which earns me a sexy little gasp.

When she rolls her hips, a soft moan escapes her. “Of course. I’ll wait up for you.”

“Good. We’ll see how many times you call me sir while begging for mercy.”

She tugs my earlobe with her teeth and whispers, “Zero.”

With a hand splayed on her back, I draw her to my chest and claim her mouth for a kiss. The languorous glide of my tongue against hers conveys my gratitude for her intervention earlier. I know a thousand other ways I can show her my appreciation, but before our make-out session escalates to something more exciting, someone pounds on the door.

“Take your time,” Javi yells. “It’s not like there’s a festival happening.”

We both groan in annoyance. Her, because the interruption stopped my thumb circling her clit. Me, because I have to face everyone who witnessed my near meltdown and resume my duties as bar owner. I’m ready to call it a day and hide away from the world, preferably while buried deep inside my girl.

Maisy and I are failing the test. With the time difference and our work schedules, we don’t find many opportunities to talk, but she could text at least. I haven’t heard much from her at all.

Thank god she comes home today. I had more patience before she agreed to “explore” things than I do now. Ever since she gave herself to me, I can’t get enough. It’s a problem, an addiction I need to kick before it affects other areas of my life.

Too late.

“Did you order the new mics for karaoke?” Javi asks, trailing behind me toward my office.

“Yep.” Nope. I forgot.

His hand lands on my shoulder, urging me to turn and look at him. When I do, he studies my face and shakes his head in disapproval. I’m aware of what he sees—dark circles, bleary eyes. I catch a glimpse of myself every day in the mirror.

“Get it together. That’s the second thing you forgot this week.”

“What was the first?”

“Hey, boss!” Charlie shouts from behind the bar. He agreed to come in this morning to organize the stock and display. “Do we have that case of vodka yet?”

We like to give up-and-coming distilleries a chance, and I promised to order bottles of infused vodka from a local company. Last month.

Javi lifts his brows.

“Fuck.” I plant my hands on my hips and stare at him, waiting for the reprimand.

He puts me out of my misery and momentary self-loathing. “I took care of it. This time,” he adds with a pointed look.