“Is that what they’re saying?” I gasp out laughing and resume my jog. “That I fled?”
“The rumor mill is churning. I’ve heard everything from a secret wedding to your getting the mayor’s daughter pregnant and he cast you out. It’s honestly very entertaining.”
“And you’ve been setting these people back on the right path, right?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Of course not.” Buster laughs. “You abandoned me. This is my payback.”
“I deserve it.”
“You do.”
“You should come out here, Buster. San Francisco is beautiful.”
“I dunno. If you’re jogging, that suggests a culture that will chew me up and spit me out.”
“Are you serious? You used to jog all the time.” My route takes me back down the path and loops toward the main road.
“Yeah, when I was trying to impress Hannah. Now I’ve nailed her, she gets the real me.”
“If you stop trying?—”
“I know, I know. She’ll leave me for someone hotter and richer. Luckily, you’ve left New York.”
We laugh, and Buster reminds me quickly of what he needs me to send, then he hangs up. Out of all the calls and emails I get from anyone else in the company, Buster is the only one who can ignite a curl of homesickness low in my gut.
I increase my pace and try to jog away the sensation, but it still lingers when I make it back to my hotel and share an uncomfortable elevator ride with an elderly woman clearly put off by my sweaty state.
Maybe jogging in January is weird here.
Inside, I toss my room key onto my end table and shrug off my hoodie. As I’m peeling out of my sweat-soaked T-shirt, another call comes through and I automatically answer, expecting Buster to have remembered something.
“Hello?”
“Elijah?”
My heart stalls in my chest as Imogen’s voice fills my ears. “Imogen.”
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you hate me.”
“I don’t care about you enough to hate you.”
“Could have fooled me.” She sighs, and it’s loud, like her mouth is pressed right up against the speaker. “Are you back in New York yet?”
“No.” Balling my T-shirt up, it joins my hoodie in the pile for laundry as I wander my room and pause near the sliding doors leading to the balcony. “What do you want?”
“I miss you.” She elongates the S just long enough for it to sound a little static.
“Are you… Imogen, have you been drinking?”
“Maybe,” she purrs softly.
Glancing at the clock on my bedside table, I quickly calculate the time difference. “At four in the afternoon?”
“God, even from miles away, you’re still judging me.”
