I wanted Tyler. Irrational and stupid and complicated and dangerous, but damned if I didn’t want him anyway. And even though I kept trying to bury the thought of him down deep, my thoughts of him were as relentless as the man himself.
The shrill ring of my phone made me jump, and I wanted to kick myself, because my very first impulse was to check and see if it was him.
Apparently, I’d never left high school.
With my pulse pounding, I checked the screen. Just a number, but I knew it was him. I could feel it, and I took a deep breath to steady myself before I answered.
But it wasn’t Tyler’s whiskey-smooth voice I heard. It was Kevin’s.
“You got a minute?”
“Actually, no.” Not exactly a warm and fuzzy response, but I wasn’t actually feeling warm and fuzzy toward Kevin at the moment.
“I talked to Tom,” Kevin continued, undeterred. “He said he saw you at Evan Black’s engagement party. Sounds like you’re making progress.”
“Hard to make progress when I don’t know all the facts.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just a little irritated that you somehow forgot to mention that you were dating Angelina Raine before she went and got herself engaged to Evan Black.”
“Fuck.” The word was a sharp whisper, but it came across the phone just fine.
“Yeah, I’d say so. I don’t like being used for your private vendetta.”
“Dammit, Sloane, I wasn’t—”
“Wasn’t what? Wasn’t being a lying, manipulative sack of shit? Got news for you, Kevin. You were.”
“I wasn’t lying. I’m not manipulative. And I’m not using you.”
“Color me unconvinced.”
“Look, just come meet me.”
“Forget it, Kevin. I’m sorry your girl ditched you, but I’m not your personal payback bitch. You have a battle to fight? I’ll let you be the one to fight it.”
“Dammit, you’re not—”
“Listening? No, I’m not. Goodbye, Kevin,” I said, then ended the call. And although it felt good to hang up and take control, I was still antsy. Stewing. Kevin’s allegations about the knights stirred in my head, getting mixed up with my thoughts about Amy, and those thoughts were doing a tango with the confused mishmash of emotions I felt simply from the mention of Tyler’s name.
“Dammit,” I muttered, then jammed the lid back on the ice cream.
Kevin’s call had pumped my edginess up exponentially. I needed to move. Needed to clear my head. Needed to figure out how the hell I could get into Destiny—because for better or for worse, my curiosity was piqued now. Tyler Sharp had shown me the man he wanted me to see. Now I wanted the chance to peek behind the curtain.
I just needed to find a way inside.
Without even realizing it, I’d moved toward the small closet that held a closet rod, two plastic drawers and the water heater. My running shorts, bra, and tank dangled from a coat hanger I’d hooked to the heater. I ripped off the pajama bottoms and Dr. Who T-shirt I’d tossed on, then dumped them in the top drawer. Then I pulled on my running clothes, found the last pair of clean socks, and shoved my feet into my shoes.
I pulled my hair into a high ponytail, grabbed my phone, jammed my earphones in, and set out to run.
What I would have preferred was to go to the gym and do a few rounds with a punching bag. Or, better, with one of the other officers. Cavanaugh was always up to spar, and we were pretty evenly matched. But when I was on a tear, I could beat the shit out of her and we both knew it.
No, I wanted Lieutenant Barrone. Up against him in the ring and I didn’t have time to think about anything except dodging jabs and keeping my face from getting bruised. That would be good, I thought. No thinking. Just doing.
Not an option today.