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“It’s seven—go back to bed.” He closes his door and disappears.
I wish I could, but I’ve always been the type whenever I get up, be it five in the morning or twelve in the afternoon I’m up to stay.
It doesn’t help my mind is on Mia—on the way her body felt pressed against mine last night as I cornered her. I hate I had to ambush her, but the way she’d been avoiding me I knew it was the only way to speak to her.
I finally manage to make myself some scrambled eggs—mostly burnt and rubbery, but I tried—and I sit down with a glass of orange juice, turning on the TV.
There’s nothing much on and I end up turning it off while I shovel the eggs in my mouth.
I’ve never had anyone get under my skin the way she does. I want to say I don’t like it, but fuck I do. I like feeling something real. For too long everything’s been superficial and Mia grounds me, brings me back to reality, to the way things should be.
I know it’s only a matter of time before we combust, she knows it too, and yet she keeps tiptoeing
around me thinking if she avoids me enough this will all go away.
Unfortunately for her I’m not easily deterred.
I don’t know what I have to do to make her see it. To show her I’m worth taking a chance on. I want her to know her heart is safe with me, but with my past reputation I don’t know what I can possibly do to prove it to her. Except maybe working my ass off to show her she can push me away, ignore me, but I’m still waiting just around the corner for her to come to her senses.
Only her—there’s no one else.
* * *
After the so-called bear attack, we’ve been keeping our weekends relatively chill. Once the guys get up and eat we pile into Cannon’s Land Rover and go to the gym we joined only a few miles down the road, since the hotel doesn’t have one of its own. It’s cheap, but clean and serves its purpose.
I head straight for the treadmill. The guys poke fun at me for my love of running over lifting, but when I run my mind clears. I feel free in a way I rarely do otherwise. I stick my earphones in, turning up my music as loud as it can go before it reaches deafening levels. I turn the treadmill on and start at a slow jog before kicking it up to a full sprint.
It isn’t long until I’m drenched in sweat, but I can feel my mind emptying and I welcome it. The only other time I can get this level of numbness is when I drink myself into oblivion and since Hayes has us all on the tightest fucking leash imaginable drinking isn’t an option at the moment. Besides, I do stupid shit when I’m wasted and I’d feel like I was tempting fate to lead me down a dangerous path if I picked up a bottle right now. The last thing I need is to do something stupid to prove Mia right about what kind of guy I am.
You know, it pisses me off people have such a big opinion on who I am and what I stand for when they don’t even know me. Not the real me.
Yeah, I’m cocky. Yes, I can be arrogant, sarcastic, and a million other things, but I also know I’m not as bad as the media portrays.
Just because I’ve slept with a lot of women I’m a manwhore asshole? Excuse me, last time I checked all those women were ready and willing.
But magazines? They need to make money. They thrive on twisting the truth until it’s unrecognizable.
A few months ago one got ahold of a very unflattering photo of me leaving a club. I looked … like shit. They ran this whole fucking story on how I was addicted to drugs and headed to rehab.
When my mom saw it she called me in a panic, ready to board the first flight to L.A. It took a two hour phone call to finally calm her down and assure her I’d only had too much to drink and the paparazzi caught me off guard leaving the club, and the strange face forever frozen in time they’d captured was from the lights of their cameras blinding me.
Honestly, I can’t believe there are no paps camped out here because of Willow Creek—but I guess since they’d only get pictures of the four musicians and their families it’s not worth it.
All I can say is the reprieve from those vermin is well worth being stuck in the mountains.
I run harder, my breath coming out in mighty gasps. I probably sound close to a dying walrus but I don’t care. As the sweat pours from my body so do my worries.
I run, run, run … until I stumble.
Vibrant red hair catches my eye causing me to nearly fall off the treadmill.
It’s Mia, with her friend from the sub shop who I can’t remember the name of, maybe she never even mentioned her name. She’s laughing at something her dark-haired friend says before they both climb on an elliptical side by side. Any breath I had left leaves me in an instant.
What is she doing here? Why isn’t she at her house far, far, far away from me? Does she purposely want to tempt me like some sultry mermaid goddess?
She might not be doing it on purpose, but Mia Hayes is slowly, tortuously, killing me.
I keep running for as long as I can stand it before I hop off and make my way to her, sliding my earphones out. I’m drenched in sweat, out of breath, and have definitely seen better days but I can’t stop myself from getting closer to her. Apparently I’m a sick bastard who loves to continue punishing himself.
