The screech of the cab’s brakes told her it was time and then boom—she felt the car jerk to a stop. She handed the cabbie enough of a tip to make herself feel good and to make him grin, and to wish her a good night, a good morning, a good whatever. As she headed up to her apartment her shoes vibrated like a gong, click, click, click, her legs propelling her on on very weak heels, very tired calves, very tired everything. Mind, body and soul.
She peeled off her outfit, poured herself into her big oversized flannel pajamas, and just crawled into bed to sleep the sleep of the conflicted.
Dylan was accustomed to waking alone, Jill’s side of the bed a cold place, a sexual Siberia, but he had hoped to find Laura there this morning. Making her breakfast and having her be his breakfast had been on his mind as he’d faded off to sleep, cradling her in his arms.
Hopefully, she’d left a note. Maybe she needed to rush off to work. He understood. It was hard to juggle shifts and bosses and—
His eyes stopped as they landed on a picture of Jill. Hawaii. About seven years ago. Her skin glistened in her wet suit and she grinned a relaxed, happy smile as the sun kissed her nose, Mike standing next to her, turned toward her and showing the camera only his profile, face largely hidden. He was a good foot taller than petite Jill. Their hair had lightened so much on that vacation, though Dylan’s dark locks had stayed the same. By the end of the week Jill and Mike were hooked on surfing, while Dylan...#p#分页标题#e#
His thoughts faded as the enormity of Jill’s death hit him. In some ways, her death was still striking blows. Good ones. $59 million blows a year.
He, unlike Laura, would never have to worry about getting to work on time again. Man, even letting himself think like that made him queasy. It was a sick, sick way to become rich— losing your soulmate—and he was still so angry at something— God? Cancer? Fate? His own helplessness?—that he just wouldn’t quit the fire station, preferring to act like a working class slob because until two months ago, that’s exactly what, and who, he had been.
The masquerade of normalcy was important. Necessary. Especially now that he was dating Laura. Until he knew she cared for him as the old Dylan—before the trust fund—he needed to play it cool.
Sitting up, he stretched his arms over his head, willing blood to flow into his biceps, triceps, popping his elbows and slowly stretching out his neck. His hips ached just a little, the good kind of ache from a nice, deep, intense session of lovemaking. He grinned, the smell of her still on his sheets, her soft skin nearly still there, brushing against his chest. Laura was soft and sweet and sighed like it was all some kind of dream, as if his touch were new. He’d been tender with her, but detected a little something extra, a naughty streak. He’d been right and reveled in the discovery.
If he texted her now would that be seen as too pushy? Too stalkerish?
Who cares.
Grabbing his phone, he dug out her number and texted: So you went home and all I got was this morning boner. ;)
Silence. Give it five minutes, Dylan, he told himself. Standing, he let the sunlight stream in through the window and wash over him, his naked form tight with need. A bottle of lotion and a nice hot shower could kill off his arousal. Even better, though, would be a date tonight.
Nothing. He knew it seemed way too desperate, but he looked up her number and dialed. No answer. Not even a voice mail message. That was supremely weird, because the only reason you couldn’t leave a voice mail on someone’s phone was if they blocked you.
Cold rushed through his body, his flesh covered with goosebumps in seconds. Blocked? Why would she block him? He took a really good look around the room and let himself inhale, then exhale, a few times. Centered, he thought carefully through the last twenty-four hours.
He had found her online. Asked her out. Scheduled a dinner at the hottest restaurant in town. Found her attractive and the feeling mutual. Made a move, invited her over, hand mind-blowing sex (which he wanted more of) and had fallen sleep spooned with her in his bed.
Waking up, he was alone. He texted her. He called her—and now it appeared she had blocked him.
Blocked?
That had to be a mistake. He called again. It rang twenty-eight times before he hung up. Where was Mike? Oh, that’s right—at his cabin. He had decided to clear out so Dylan could have alone time with Laura. Except now Dylan had tons of alone time— with himself. Not the kind of private time he was hoping for.
He popped on the computer and opened a chat window at the dating site. She wasn’t in his “Favorites” any more. Huh? He ran a search—no Laura Michaels. It was as if she had vanished.