Even if other boys don’t interest me anymore. Even if his face, his body, his voice—and now his scent—fill my mind from end to end. The pain in my chest lingers, as if my heart is cracking.
This is stupid. Maybe I need a distraction. Maybe I should give my ex, Greg, another chance. God knows he’s been asking me for just that, and why not? Greg’s a good guy.
But right now I can’t even recall what Greg looks like. Can’t recall his hair, the color of his eyes, his mouth.
God, I’m so screwed. The only face I can see in my mind is Rafe’s.
***
Cringing at the price of the ride, I pay the cabbie and hurry to the entrance of my building, where I proceed to fumble with my key, my fingers numbs from the cold and nerves. My skin crawls, as if eyes are watching me from the shadows. It’s a feeling I’ve been getting a lot lately, and I hate it.
I’m supposed to be safe here. Carson Ames doesn’t know where I am, wouldn’t know where to find me even if he wasn’t behind bars.
The stairwell is dark and smells of urine and alcohol. Could be the smells scaring me, reminding me too much of home, my neighborhood in Philly. That’s what I tell myself as I jog up the stairs to the apartment I share with Raylin.
Shivering from more than just cold, I make it the fourth floor, unlock the door, hurry inside and lean back against it, releasing a pent-up breath.
The apartment is small and cramped, barely enough space for two people, but Raylin’s rarely around. Tonight doesn’t seem to be an exception. No light under her bedroom door. Her kitten wanders toward me as I turn on the lamp in the tiny living room and kick off my shoes.
The cat winds between my legs, tripping me up, and I curse.
“Hey, Raf.” I bend down to rub his triangular head.
I only feel slightly guilty for calling him that, when his name is actually Horatio. He’s a ginger, but more gold than orange, and he has those beautiful amber eyes… just like Rafe.
I stop in front of Raylin’s door and knock. “Hey! Are you here?”
No reply.
Sighing, I lead the way to the tiny kitchen. If it wasn’t for me, poor kitty would’ve starved by now. I can’t even recall the last time I saw Raylin. Must have been a week ago, I guess. She’s kinda weird, but this is her apartment. I just answered the ad and moved in with her. She can’t have left like that, can she?
It’s not a bad apartment, I muse as I open a can and dish out its smelly contents onto Raf’s plate. We’re renting it furnished, and although the furniture is old and quite horrible, it’s nice to have a bed and even a sofa to collapse onto after work.
Raf is making content growly cat noises as he attacks his pile of food, and I check his water bowl before I drag my feet to my own bedroom.
As I fish my cell out of my purse to set the alarm for tomorrow morning—there’s lots I want to do before I head off to another coffee shop where I have a temporary stint for some extra cash—I see a text from Greg, and my t
houghts about getting back with him rush back into my mind.
I click on the text. It reads, ‘Hey, what’s ur plan for tomorrow? Have coffee with me?’
Sweet, simple. Just like Greg.
I chew on my lip, thinking, as I undress.
Why not? A coffee. What’s the harm in that? It’s not a date, not really. Just testing the waters. Hey, so what if it didn’t work out last time with Greg? It might work out now. People change. I have changed.
Settling for less, a voice whispers in my mind, for something other than what you really want.
So what? I throw my clothes on the chair by the small window with a view of a brick wall and flop on top of my red comforter on my narrow bed, cell in hand. I stare up at the cracked ceiling, and think about it. About Greg. His safe accounting job. His soft blue eyes, his soft smile. All soft and pliant, bending over backward to please me.
My face scrunches up. Why does it bother me that he’s so nice?
Get your head on straight, Megan, I tell myself and reply to his text with an okay and a time and place. My finger pauses over the send button, and I suck in a breath.
Let’s do this.
I hit send, drop the cell on the bedside table, and slip under the covers. Pulling the quilt up to my chin, I sigh.