My sister tries to convince me to stay the night because she knows what I’ll do when I get home. And she’s right. Because after telling her I’ll be fine to go home, she drops me off and I curl up on my living room couch that I haven’t looked at the same since the day with Thomas.
And the second the silence sinks in, I hate it.
I hate that I can’t drown out the noise.
Or the sadness.
Or the guilt.
I hate that I’m not looking forward to going to the gala and seeing Thomas, not because I have nothing to wear—because I don’t—but because I have no idea how I’ll react around the man I can’t stop thinking about.
I kissed him, and he kissed me back and…nothing. Maybe all it took was sleeping with me to get me out of his system. Maybe he just needed to prove to himself that I would cave and kiss him exactly as he expected. Maybe using him the way I did put the final nail in the coffin for us. Not that there is an us, but whatever relationship we were forming. Friendly. More than that.
That’s the problem with getting to know people. You start to like them. You start to open yourself to them. And the second you realize you want more—more of their secrets, time, and company—it’s too late. You’re sucked in, regardless of the consequences.
There have only been a few times in my life that I’ve truly been scared. The first was when I realized my mother and father weren’t coming home. I would never have my father’s famous pancakes or hear my mother’s angelic laugh when she heard Dad’s jokes that weren’t even that funny.
The second was when I graduated from high school and had no idea what came next. I had no ambitions like my older sister and no clear path that made sense to me. I felt alone in a world full of billions of people and had nobody to help guide me in the right direction.
And the third is right now, when I realize that I might love Thomas Moskins—a married man with secrets, a wife who loves him, and a life of grandeur that is beyond what I’ll ever comprehend.
This isn’t some rags-to-riches story. Because at least Cinderella had parents.
No. I won’t be that girl—the one who depended on somebody to give her a better life.
I made a promise at my parents’ graves that I would stand on my own two feet and live a life they would be proud of me for.
That can’t include him, because he isn’t mine to love.
I’m starting to wonder if it can include anyone, or if I’ve been broken for a lot longer than I thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Moskins
Ialready knowit’s going to be a shit day when I have two missed calls and three text messages from my agent all by the time I finish my run, shower, and hop in the car to go to the stadium for a team meeting.
The first image he sends me is of me pulling Winter inside my home. It’s from the other day and must have been taken by the Uber driver who recognized me.
The second one is us at a diner, sitting across from one another in an intense conversation. It looks like it was taken from behind a counter, which means one of the servers must have snapped it. My bet is on Linda. I’d seen the flash of familiarity in her eyes that Winter insisted wasn’t there.
And the third is of us kissing in my car outside her apartment building.Yesterday.Which means that while I was dropping her off, someone waswaitingfor her. Someone who knew I’d be there.
My jaw clenches as I dial my agent’s number and growl, “Kill it, Ashton.”
“Good morning to you too, asshole.”
Teeth grinding, I roll my shoulders and take a deep breath. “Hi, Ash. Would you be so fucking obliged as to get rid of the goddamn pictures you sent me? You know, like Ipayyou to take care of.”
He mumbles something under his breath about Scott needing to step up in his managerial role. Then adds, “I’mworking on it, but I figured you’d need to know in case you decide to have anymoreguestsat your house that can’t drive themselves.”
“So it was the driver,” I guess, swiping a hand down my face.
“He took multiple pictures of you and Winter. They’re incriminating, Tom. He sold them off to TMZ, which is how I found out about them from our contact there.”
My nostrils flare. “Son of a bitch.”
“I told—”
