Scrabbling, I locate my phone and fumble until I find the correct entry. It only rings once before it’s answered.
“Hey. I need to get out of here or I am going to lose it,” I confess to the person on the other end.
“I’ll be right there.”
I end the call and sink to the carpet cursing myself for thinking I could ever leave my past behind. I hadn’t realized how important it was to have Mitch’s respect until it was gone.
Mitch
How did everything get so screwed up so fast?
One minute Gavin and I were tangled together, sweaty and writhing, the next, he’s shut me out and locked himself in his room.
I pace the back patio, staring out at the view of the city. It’s hot and hazy today, the smog dense around the tall buildings. The back of my shirt becomes sticky within minutes.
Wow, it’s really hot out.
The pool glistens in the sun, inviting and cool. I’m already barefoot, so I roll up the bottom of my jeans and sit on the edge, sticking my feet in the cold water.
I freeze at the sound of a car pulling up the drive. The front door slams and the car engine revs. I’m on my feet and running through the house when I hear the tires squeal on the asphalt. By the time I get to the front step, it’s long gone.
Shit!
My hand goes to my pocket to call Marcus at the front gate and tell him not to let the car leave, only to find it empty.
No! No, no, no, no!
I scramble back into the house and dash up the stairs, gracelessly stumbling into Gavin’s room. The bed is still unmade, the scent of sex heavy in the air. I check the bathroom, the guest rooms, and the entire house before I accept that Gavin is gone.
“Son of a bitch!” I shout. To who? I have no idea. No one is listening.
Furious, I snatch my phone from the duffel bag I dumped on the kitchen floor and dial Gavin. Straight to voicemail. Of course. It takes me three tries to stop shaking in anger long enough to pound out a text.
Don’t do this. It’s not safe. Call me.
When I don’t get a response, I call Marcus and tell him to come back to the house then throw the phone onto the nearby couch and sink down onto it.
Could I have possibly blown this job in a more spectacular manner? Shame quickly overtakes my anger. It’s not Gavin’s fault everything went to shit. It’s mine. I can’t be mad at him. I’m the one who is here to do a job, not screw my client. I’m the one who crossed the line by kissing him the other night. I’m the one who took off for a few days because I couldn’t face the truth about myself.
Jesus, I’m a walking cliché. Not just the part about hooking up with a client, but being so far in the closet I didn’t even realize there was one.
My phone rings from under the couch cushion and I bolt upright to find it. Please let it be Gavin. It takes a few seconds of looking, but I finally get it in my hand and glance at the display.
Ross Evans.
Shit. Time to face the music.
I answer in my normal clipped tone. “Hale.”
“What in the holy fuck is going on?” I inhale to respond, but he continues his rant. “Hawke just called to tell me that he’s with Gavin and they’re taking off for a few days and not to try and find them. Was this your idea?”
“No. Gavin left without telling me.”
Cringing, I wait for the verbal lashing I’m due to receive for losing track of my client. Instead, I get a much more rational Ross Evans than I expected.
“Well, it’s probably good that he’s lying low.”
“What?” I nearly shout.