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She gives me her number. I have to retype it a second time, with my body trembling so hard. A ghostly sensation moves up and down my spine, as if getting thicker, the way all my bones do when I change.
My eyes shimmer, and instinctively, I close them.
Get your act together.
When I open them, Ruby’s looking at me strangely.
“Anyway, I’ll let him know you’re coming,” I grunt, turning away and stalking out of the park, away from her scent.
It’s not any easier, leaving her this time.
I don’t think it ever will be.
CHAPTERFIVE
Ruby
I am not going crazy.
I’ve got a small notepad next to the phone on the desk, perfect for doodling as the hours pass.
Except I’m not doodling.
I’ve written the same phrase six times.
It’s as if, with each repetition, I can try to believe it more deeply. I can try to convince myself again and again.
First, the wolf staring down at me from the rooftop, then the scene in the park with Ramsey. Even three days later – even if this, today, is my third shift at the gym and I haven’t seen Ramsey again – I can’t stop thinking about him.
Ramsey has spent his time at different gyms. Every day, he texts me telling me which gym to go to.
But he’s never there. It’s like he’s purposely avoiding me.
A customer approaches, jolting me from my thoughts. I smile and offer a friendly greeting.
After he’s paid, I look at the notebook again. It looks so pitiful and silly and pointless. In fact, it looks like it’s admitting the exact opposite of my point.
Because really, writingI’m not crazyover and over in a notebook, it’s sort of a crazy thing to do.
I flip it over, hiding the words as I lean back in the chair and let out a short breath. This is by far the easiest job I’ve had since leaving the cult.
All I have to do is sit here, greet customers, answer the phone and take bookings.
It gives me plenty of time to think.
About the park. About Ramsey’s eyes.
About the way they changed color.
It was difficult to focus as this tall, handsome, rugged forty-two-year-old loomed over me, his intense features flitting between rage and hungry desire. And even if I knew I was imagining the latter – he wouldn’treallywant me – it was difficult to accept.
My mind made me think about how firm his arms would feel, about the sensation of his breath whispering hotly over my skin. Even when he was distant and seemingly pissed, my thoughts wouldn’t stop flurrying.
Even as he seemed to get angrier, his features tighter, his eyes...
They were a pale shade of blue, dreamy, making me wish I could do nothing but gaze into them for a long time.
But then, as the conversation went on, I was sure I saw them flitting to a darker color. First a darker blue, then a hint of red, as though his rage was burning up through him.
