Page 45 of Battle Scars

I figured my making a date with another man and then coming down here to be alone made it clear that I don’t want to be around him. I guess I was wrong.

I’ve told him to leave me alone and he’s refused; I make a date with another man and he’s still right here.

“Don’t wear yourself out,” Gabe says cryptically from his place by the door.

“What? Why?”

“When you get back from him,” he says, the warning in his low voice clear for all to hear, “you come to me.”

“Gabe—”

“If he touches what’s mine, I’ll be pissed,” he adds and then turns on his heel and stalks away.

Isn’t that just the rub, because I was never his to begin with and it’s clear I’m never going to be. It’s cruel of him to dangle the thought of it in front of me.

And I can’t remember wanting anything more in all of my life.

My heart feels like it’s about to beat its way out of my chest.

I have no idea why I thought any of this was a good idea. I played with fire and got burned. I should have dived into a pool of asbestos and put out the flame but instead, I jumped from one fire into an inferno.

After working out until I could barely stand, I crawled upstairs on my Jello legs and took a long, hot shower. Neither of which did absolutely anything to ease my anxiety. I dried and curled my hair so it hung delicately over my shoulders and down my back. Applied my makeup like a professional in smoky shimmery shades of brown and gold to highlight my hazel eyes and swiped a soft pink on my lips. Slipped a pair of diamond studs into my ears and wrapped a matching tennis bracelet around my wrist.

Then I went and lost my freaking mind by pulling on a stretchy dress that was so slinky and so tight I couldn’t wear any panties or a bra with it. I slipped my feet into black heels with a rounded toe and looked at myself in the mirror.

I look good. I know that, but Gabe’s warning is sounding like a fire alarm in my ears.

“What in the hell am I doing?” I ask my reflection. But there’s no answer to be found, because my reflection and I both know I’m still being monumentally stupid.

I wonder if I have time to break into my emergency stash of sour candy in the kitchen and stuff an entire package of watermelon ribbons into my mouth before Bobby gets here.

The doorbell rings.

“Shit.”

I race down the stairs just in time to see Manny pull open my front door, and I wonder where Gabe is. At the same time, I’m equally glad he’s not here to threaten me within an inch of my vagina.

“I’m your detail tonight,” Manny explains to both Bobby and me.

“Detail?” Bobby asks with a disarming smile.

“My protection detail,” I explain.

“Oh, right,” he says. “I heard you were having a bit of trouble with a fan. Everything all right?”

“Everything is fine.” I sigh. “I honestly think my dad overreacted.” Kind of. Not really.

“Well,” he says as he gives me a weird look. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” I blurt out nervously.

Bobby takes my hand in his and leads me out to his car. I never realized how pretentious of a car he drove before. Race car drivers often do, but still. This one is over the top, and that’s saying something, because my baby Hellcat is safely tucked away in my garage. I miss her. I miss driving her.

It’s weird to be driven around all the time when my job title is literally professional driver. I didn’t realize it until now, but it’s been over a month since I’ve driven on actual roads outside of the track. It’s unnerving and I don’t like it. It makes me feel like I’ve been locked away in a cage under the guise of my own safety but I’m not safe at all because I’m stuck in that cage with an actual panther. Not Bobby, of course, Navarro.

Bobby pulls open his door, and I get my own.

I am a strong, independent woman, but the simple difference makes me think of Gabe and how he always opens my door for me. I shouldn’t be thinking of Gabe while I’m out with Bobby—that’s so fucked up. Then again, so is the rest of my fucking life.