AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s not why I’m here. I came to give you this.” From the bottom of my purse, I pull out a velvet box he presented to me on that Hawaii trip we went on last year.
I wish I had gone to Germany to see Charlie instead.
“No. We’re not over.” Martin scowls at the jewelry box as if I’m handing him dog shit.
And suddenly, I’m exhausted.
“Yes, Martin. We are.”
My ex-fiancé keeps his hands shoved firmly in his pockets, refusing to accept the ring.
So, I bend down, placing the box on the sidewalk between us before standing and walking to the driver’s side door of my car. I half expect him to sprawl across the hood of the car, refusing to let me leave. For a moment, I wish he would. Just so I can call the police on him.
But he stays on the sidewalk, staring down at the velvet box.
As I press my foot on the clutch, an ache starts deep in my leg. Maybe if I go for a run it’ll help with the combined physical and emotional pain of this day.
I pull into traffic, not looking back to see if he’s picked up the ring.
Chapter Nine
Dash
Every time I press the brake pedal, my car shakes ominously. Probably low on fluid, but I can’t be sure until I get it up on blocks and check underneath. I pray I don’t need to replace any parts because I don’t have the money for that right now.
Today is already turning out to be shitty. A dog was returned halfway through my shift. The family adopted it when it was just a puppy, and their reasoning for giving it back was that the dog ‘got too big too fast.’
What kind of stupid excuse is that? Did they think puppies stayed puppies forever? And who in their right mind wouldn’t still find the full-grown lab-mix adorable?
So now we have a dog that grew attached to people and has no idea why they decided to abandon him. Probably doesn’t even realize he’s been abandoned. He’s just sitting in his kennel, waiting for the family he loves to come pick him back up.
Poor sucker. I know just how terrifying that wait can be. And just how devastating it is when no one comes.
Now, all I want is to get home, shower, and veg out in front of Cole’s TV.
I turn onto a street full of potholes and slow my car even more to make sure nothing important falls off as it bumps over the uneven pavement.
An attractive figure catches my eye. On the sidewalk, which is in little better shape than the road, a woman jogs just ahead. Even as her round curves bounce with each step, her movements are smooth, arms pumping and legs stretching long. The bright neon green sneakers grip the cement and propel her forward in strong ground-devouring strides.
I home in on the shoes for a moment, their style and color memorable, before giving the runner a more thorough inspection. The shape of the body could be right, and the sunflower yellow ponytail poking out from the Saints baseball hat is a familiar shade.
But it can’t be her. This is not the area she would be running in.
New Orleans is like any big city, with streets safe for tourists to walk without worries, and then places you need to keep a sharp eye on every passerby if you want to keep your valuables and your life. This street, while not the worst that could be found, is closer to the dangerous end of the spectrum.
The moment I roll past the jogger, she turns her head to examine my car, as if realizing the importance of being aware of her surroundings.
Through my window, I meet Paige Herbert’s eyes.
Her steps stutter, but she keeps up her pace, smiling wide, and giving me a friendly wave. Like she thinks this is a casual run-in, and I’m not feeling a sudden onslaught of panic about her safety.
As quickly as I can, my car shuttering in protest, I pull to a stop against the curb. Afraid she’ll jog straight past, I tug my keys from the ignition and hop out of my vehicle, pushing aside the shame of having Paige see me drive such a huge piece of shit.
“Hey, Dash!” Paige pauses, bending over to brace her hands on her knees as she works to catch her breath.
“Paige, what’re you doing here?” I move to stand on the sidewalk in front of her, as if I can block her from continuing her ill-advised exercise.
She wipes strands of sweat-soaked hair off her forehead, staring at me with amused eyes. “Running.”
