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Ethan
The pounding of my feet on the pavement drowned out the pounding in my head…or the twist in my chest. Last night had been beyond insane, and not only because of what had happened with Mia. I couldn’t remember the last time I had allowed myself to get tipsy, much less drunk enough that I had left rational city behind and walked right into crazy town.
Mile One….
How could I have done that? How could I have kissed her? Even if I hadn’t known it was her—and god knows I should have—what sense did it make to kiss a complete stranger?
Mile One and a Half…
When I had pulled her mask, it hadn’t taken long for the surprise on her face to turn to disgust. Of course, it had; why would she want a Vega near her, much less desecrating the sanctity of her body?
Mile Two…
And the worst thing was…I had wanted to do more than kiss her. Old teenage crushes and desires aside, the adult me had wanted her in my bed, moaning and gasping under me as I sent her mind and body to places she might have never been.
Mile Two and a Half…
We weren’t kids anymore. There was no excuse to be wearing rose-tinted glasses when the reality of who we were and the mandates our family had put us under would ever stand between us. She was bound to be my opponent.
Mile Three…
I rounded a corner on Second Street and slowed my hard run to a jog. Sweat was pouring off my forehead, blinding me with salty stings before I wiped them away with my arm. Stopping, I tapped the button on my wristwatch to stop the music pounding from my earbuds.
Across the street was the local coffee shop slash bakery, Hot Joe. Thank God the guy who ran it, Harvey Richards, my friend from high school days, had refrained from letting his inner Star Wars nerd come out; he’d been a cup of Vodka away from naming the shop Brew Baccas, like Chewbacca.
He was a strange guy, but he made my post-workout tropical green smoothie.
It was about five thirty, still early enough that the morning mist hadn’t evaporated from the ground, so the shop was pretty empty. I stepped in and breathed in coffee, burned sugar, pineapple glaze for their donuts, and pecans for their specialty bread.
I got to the counter and called out, “Harvey!”
The swinging doors spun and bright red hair sticking in a faux hawk came out. I didn’t want to know how much he spent on hair gel per month. He set my cup of smoothie on the table with a grin. “Morning, Ethan. You look like you ran ten kilos instead of five.”
Taking the cup, I saluted him, “It’s been a long night.”
“How long?” Harvey grinned, folded his arms on the table, and waggled his brows. “Got some last night?”
“Hardly,” I grunted while plopping a straw into the cup and taking a sip. “I only got tipsy. That’s all.”
“No chicks?” he snorted. “I’m disappointed.”
“You say that as if I were a ladies’ man,” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve got a business to run, Harv, not going cruising for chicks. I have responsibilities, man.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harvey waved his hand. “I get it. It's all about the numbers.”
I turned and pressed the cold cup to my temple, hoping it would calm the thump in my temple. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from drinking that much. Even worse, I never got a wink of sleep last night.
I’d tossed and turned for almost an hour before deciding sleep was a no-show and went to my home office to look over some files to draw up a proposal for lavender mead and another one for dragon fruit. By the time I looked up, it was predawn, and my body went into autopilot. I grabbed my running suit, jammed my feet into my sneakers, and hit the pavement.
“Where were you last night?” I asked.
“Out by the water,” he nodded west where the manmade dam and lake were. “Maggie and I had our bonfire out there…if you get my drift.”
“I always get yourdrift,” I replied while facing the front windows. “Speaking of Mags, are you ever going to make an honest woman out of her? You’ve been dating for like six years.”
“Believe it or not, Mags is the one who is dragging her feet,” Harvey shrugged. “Said something about the moment we start using the pronoun ‘we’ and gettingHis and Herstowels will make her lose her shit.”
“Well, she was a tomboy,” I shrugged.
