My Midget is in the parking garage, but that’s not where I’m going. I don’t glance at the countless cameras in the ceiling, don’t scan the gaming area for his tall lean frame. I stride to the side entrance, where there are no bellhops or other employees who might report my location to the controlling casino owner.
Cold drizzling rain splatters my face as I step outside. A shiver races through me, and I huddle deeper into the coat. A few cars motor past, but the side street at this end of the casino is relatively quiet.
If he’s watching me, he won’t be…right about…now. I just stepped out of view of the exterior cameras.
Following the sidewalk, I hop over to the next street, where numerous small bars and taverns light up either side of the road. I peer into the windows as I pass, soaking up the glowy warmth of the laid-back atmosphere and cheery groups of late-night drinkers.
I chose this path because it’s usually densely populated this time at night, making it safer to walk alone. But tonight, I’m the only asshole standing outside in the icy sleet.
The poltergeist-white pellets spear the calm black sky. It’s neither windy nor raining hard, but every frigid drop seems to find its way beneath my clothes, biting my skin and penetrating my bones. After a few minutes of this, I’m drenched and trembling.
Just as I’m about to turn back, footsteps close in behind me, stomping the pavement at a fast pace.
I spin around and spot Trace sprinting out of the shadows a block away. My chest hitches, and I hurry toward him.
His blond hair falls in sexy sodden strands across his brow. A dark gray suit clings to his muscular frame, every thread saturated and dripping beneath the spitting rain.
Standing just out of arm’s reach, he holds his shoulders back and clutches his phone at his side. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Trying to get your attention.”
His head jerks back, and he blinks against the icy drizzle. “You have my attention. Every second of every day.”
“Is pretending I don’t exist your special way of letting me know I’m on your mind? If so, I must be really dense and stupid.” My teeth chatter against the cold. “It definitely doesn’t make me want to punch you in the nuts. Not even a little. So go ahead. Keep ignoring me. It’s a great approach in building trust and commitment in a relationship.”
He leans in, his blue eyes glowing with anger. “Excuse me if I don’t take advice on trust and commitment from a woman who fucks around behind my back.”
My breath cements in my throat, choking my voice. “Tell me you hate me, that you don’t want me. Say it, Trace. Tell me it’s over. I’d rather hear it than endure your silent treatment. Being brushed off without a word, ignored like I mean nothing… It’s the worst feeling.”
He closes his eyes and wipes the rivers of rain from his face. Then he lifts his phone and types something on the screen.
“My driver’s on the way.” He glances at the entrance to a small bar across the street. “Let’s go inside and—”
“Talk to me, dammit!”
His eyes harden, wide and unblinking as he glares at me. “Are you still fucking him?”
Of course, that’s what this is about, and I don’t hold it against him. If I were in his shoes, I would crumble, gasping and bleeding, beneath the jealousy. I could never share him with another woman. It would destroy me.
The least I can do is ease his mind.
“The last time I had sex was with you.” I hug my chest, shivering.
Every night, Cole sleeps beside me. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet and reserved, keeping his hands to himself. But he’s still present in my life, casting glances in my direction, touching my lower back and brushing my hair behind my ear whenever he walks by. He’s not ignoring me.
Trace searches my face, expressionless and unreadable. As we stare at each other in the endless rain, my lungs fill with all the words I’ve messaged him during our separation. I love you. I miss you. I need you.
There’s a fine line between fighting for someone and being clingy and desperate. I’ve been walking that line for the past week. Trace knows how I feel. He knows I haven’t given up. Whatever comes next is up to him.
He continues to scowl at me, motionless and eerily silent in the rain, and the reason becomes painfully obvious. His glare doesn’t pin me down with intimidation or hold me hostage as it’s known to do. He’s frozen and staring because he doesn’t know how to proceed.
It doesn’t show in the sharp angles of his beautiful face, but for the first time since I’ve met him, he’s standing before me without an agenda. The calculating controller of schemes and strategy has no idea what to do.