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Gregory Brown. Such a good, respectable, normal name. How could you go wrong with that?
Compared to it, Rafaele Vestri… sounds all sorts of dangerous. Exciting. Sexy. Then again, no need to know his name to realize that. Just a glimpse of his handsome face and powerful body is enough.
This is bad.
As I drift into sleep, Rafe’s image flashes in my mind, with his intense eyes and golden hair, his ripped body and hidden strength. It’s inevitable. He’s all that’s been on my mind lately. His gaze, his scent, his sheer presence.
A guy haunted by the demons of his murdered family. A guy training every day for God knows what. A guy who keeps himself at a distance, even from his friends.
This is who I’m crushing on: a handsome, distant ghost.
***
Something is tickling my nose. I turn my head on the pillow, and find myself face to face with Raf, the cat.
I blink, take stock of my surroundings. Gray light spills through the window. Dawn is breaking.
Raf bats at my nose with a soft paw, and I jerk back with a snort.
“Stop it,” I tell him, and he meows, watching me with bright yellow eyes. He licks his chops, and sits up on my pillow.
My alarm beeps. No idea why or how, I always wake up a few seconds before it goes off, no matter what time I set it. I press the dismiss button, and lie back down with a groan.
Five to six on a frigging Sunday morning. Sun is barely up. Why the hell did I want to get up so early and go running?
Good question.
Normally I sleep in, because I work late on Saturday nights, but last night I came back relatively early, and truth is, I could use a chance to burn off some of this restless energy that’s been churning in my veins since Rafe held me—and then let me go as if burned.
Raf jumps out of the bed as I swing my legs off and yawn widely. Bleary-eyed, I stand up and almost step on him. Kitty’s obviously hungry and hopes food will miraculously appear if he sticks around me.
“Kitchen,” I tell him as I pull on thick socks and shuffle into the bathroom. “Kitchen is where the food is, not the bedroom.”
God, it’s ice-cold this early. Teeth chattering, I pee and wash my face, then rush back into my room to throw on my black running tights, black running shoes and my favorite blue hoodie. I pull my long hair back in a ponytail, grab my MP3 player and clip it to my sleeve, and hit play. Lady Gaga, Black Eye Peas, Beyoncé… Dance rhythms to keep me moving.
Okay, let’s do this. Self-torture, here I come.
Jogging lightly into the kitchen, I find Raf licking his leg, obviously having given up on breakfast. He perks up when I approach his dish and fill it up with dry cat food. I leave him crunching his cat treats and rap on Raylin’s door.
“Your cat misses you!” I yell, but of course I get no reply. Either she’s in deep sleep, or simply spent the night elsewhere. Won’t be the first time.
I rap again, then shrug and head out. Taking the steps two at a time, I hum along to the music. Raylin can do whatever she likes, as long as she pays the rent, which is due soon, and buys Raf more cat food, which is just about to run out.
Worry tightens my stomach—I hope Raylin’s okay, why haven’t I seen her in a week and why isn’t she answering my messages or returning my calls?—but I squash it. Too many things and people vying for my worry.
Will I be able to keep my job at the coffee shop? The boss wasn’t happy at all I asked for yesterday night off… Is Mom okay? Is her motherfucker of a boyfriend still behind bars? Am I safe?
What about Rafe?
His face flashes through my mind again and again as I rush out of the building and start my run. “Come here,” he’d said and pulled me to him. He was excited to be pressed to me, and held me so tightly as if he didn’t want to let me go.
Then why did he? Why did he turn away?
And why would he say he was sorry? Maybe from up close I’m not as he imagined me to be? Not up to his standards? Not pretty enough?
Damn.
Well, I’m not sorry. Not sorry I touched him, or that I now know how he smells, how tall and strong he is, and how his hands feel on me—large, heavy and callused.
