I wielded the power of the Rolodex but the one time I truly needed a number, I didn't have it.
Ridiculous.
I could've tracked him down. I could've asked some favors, pulled some strings. Everyone knew someone and I knew a lot of people in this town. But there were daytime favors and nighttime favors, and I wasn't ready to wake anyone up to get Cal's number. That felt a bit crazy to me, a bit clingy. And those weren't looks I wanted to wear.
When the call from his hospital came through last night, we separated in the most reluctant manner possible—complete with him backing away while still gripping my belt and taking me with him for several paces until I literally dashed away into the waiting car—but we parted with nothing more than a promise to meet here, at the pond.
Logistics had no place in lust.
Waking up this morning, I was almost convinced that the entire day was a strange, sexy, unsatisfying dream. I would have believed it too, if not for the scrapes on my knees and chin…and the tender side of my ass. All of that and the overwhelming sense that the world as I knew it was shifting. The boundaries I'd drawn, the walls I'd erected, the laws I'd enforced—they were all changing, even as I attempted to strengthen them.
Glancing at the screen one last time, I dragged my tongue over my teeth and tapped my sneakered toe against the trail. It was fifteen minutes past my usual start time at the pond and I couldn't find another reason to wait much longer. My day was packed to the brim, I was due in Los Angeles tomorrow in preparation for the football league's draft day, and my newest and most high-maintenance client McKendrick was busy being a get-the-last-word-in, can't-kill-him-with-kindness, passive-aggressive sumbitch.
That fucker did not know when to shut the hell up and appreciate the PR triage my firm was arranging for him. It was as if he forgot that he hired us for this exact purpose. He reminded me of something my grandmother had often said, that people were less kind and appreciative these days. That they expected so much but found themselves accountable for little, and true gratitude was found as often as four-leaf clovers.
And he was a spoiled sumbitch. My grandmother hadn't said that but she would've if she'd met Lucian McKendrick.
This morning's dark, drizzly weather meant the trail was less busy than most days. I looked out over the water for a moment, hoping I hadn't missed him again. But there was no man-brick to be seen. After all this time of Cal watching me and me barely noticing his Clemson-ish running shoes, and everything we shared yesterday, we were back to missing each other again.
But I couldn't keep my day on hold any longer. I had a promotion to claim. I pulled up my hood, switched on my playlist, and nudged my earbuds into place. As I moved forward, I forced myself to believe that there was a reasonable explanation for it.
For the whirlwind day we shared yesterday.
For the touches and kisses—and bites!—that were too intense to be anything but real.
For the words and promises that followed me into the night and all the way to dawn, and still wouldn't leave me today.
For his absence now.
Perhaps it was for the best. Too much, too fast, and the timing was all wrong. It was always about the timing.
But my younger sister Serina would've called horseshit on that pretty quick, and then my older sister Sophia would have agreed with her. Serina grabbed the bull by the horns and life by the balls, whereas I negotiated with the bull and maintained a respectable distance from the balls. Grabbing wasn't my style. I was all about friendly coaxing followed by a gentle reach-around.
And that was a good explanation for why I'd missed out on this promotion for far too long. Enough with the gentle reach-arounds.
I knew the timing excuse was horseshit too, but there was something helpful about hearing from your baby sister that your entire emotional and relational infrastructure was as sturdy as a pile of sardines. Serina would tell me to march my ass right down to Mass General, storm the cardiothoracic floor, and wait until Doctor McMan-brick showed his face.
Those stunts always worked for her. Serina the Stunt-Puller. Never for me, Stella the Scrupulous.
Even if I could manage stunts like Serina, I didn't know what that would solve. There was no point in guilting a guy into seeing me. If Cal didn't want to meet me this morning, forcing him wasn't going to make the situation any better.
No, I wasn't putting on my ass-kicking heels or barging into any hospitals. That wasn't my style. I didn't waitonmen and I didn't waitforthem either. I had my pick of dicks if I needed one and I didn't need one today.
With 98 Degrees blasting in my ears, the man-brick memories were gathering themselves up, putting themselves away. Really, he was nothing more than a flash in the pan. A moment of high heat and then a kitchen full of smoke. I was in need of a good airing-out.
It didn't seem like a great decision at the time but I was thrilled we hadn't slept together. I'd wanted to but Iknewit wasn't a smart move. Then, I'd worried about falling too far, too fast. Too hard. Now I knew better. I'd allowed those touches and kisses, the words and promises—and the bites—to get the better of me. I'd let them set the terms when I should've known better, done better.
But at least now I didn't have another name to add to my list of men who stuck around just long enough to realize I wasn't the one.
If I walked fast enough, I could ignore the damp and cold, and even the twinge on my battered ass cheek. I could ignore everything—and I needed to. I needed to shake it all off before getting to the office and settling in for a long day of fixing and finagling because I didn't believe in carrying drama around with me. There was no reason to let crazy live in my head unless it was paying rent.
I went on walking, singing under my breath with Nick Lachey—no one wanted me singing full-out; that would only wake the raccoonasauruses—as I chased the trail around the pond. The entrance gate was in sight when I realized the exercise had done me good. Score one for movement.
I wasn't hammering myself over near-regrets and I wasn't wondering what I'd done wrong this time. Because I hadn't done anything wrong. I just wasn't the woman that men returned to, even when they promised they would. I wasn't stressing over McKendrick's whiny boy bullshit anymore and though my heart was still tender from soaring high and then falling hard, I was better.
And then Cal was right beside me.
I stared at him with a boatload of confusion, my mouth hanging open and eyes unblinking. As hard as I tried, I couldn't voice the words,Where the fuck did you come from? All I could do was stare. And trip over my own feet when I failed to notice a sizeable dip in the trail.
