“She's not here. She has work, remember? It was you that roped me into babysitting duties in the first place.”
I stare at the woman and I … kind of want to punch her in the face, but then, I don't hit chicks, even rich old ones who let their nieces drop out of a prestigious university program to come back to this shit hole town to take care of a pair of kids.
“Right, right. My bad,” I say, not wanting to tell Monica that I got her niece fired from a strip club last night. “I'll, uh, try back later.” I give the woman a flirty wink that makes her nose crinkle and turn on my heel, trying not to run back to my car as I go.
I don't know why, but I feel frantic, full to fucking bursting.
You're in love, bro.
I skid to a stop next to the Geo, opening the door and leaning my hand on the roof as the smell of fresh cat urine—thanks Hubert—wafts out and around me. It's not all that romantic standing there with the neighbor across the street glaring at me, and the cat hissing, and the old car's engine ticking, but it is what it is.
I'm in love.
Love.
Mother Mary help me out here.
I breathe out in a long, hard whoosh and climb in, not entirely sure where it is that I'm going. After all, Brooke's only been back in town as long as I have, and we've both been busy. It's not like either of us has had time to develop local haunts.
But then it just hits me, like a football thrown by the NFL's future first woman QB to the back of the head.
The park.
Brooke's got to be at the park.
I'd completely forgotten about Zayden arranging a babysitting appointment with Monica, so when she showed up with pursed lips on my doorstep and glared at my drippy eyes and runny nose with complete and utter disinterest, I just grabbed my purse and left.
Of course, I barely have enough money to cover rent, utilities and food this month. If I still had my job, maybe I'd go out and treat myself to a burger or something, maybe even a beer. At least I'd grab a scoop at that ice cream place in old town where I went with Zayden.
As things stand, I don't have that luxury, so I head to the park where I first met the asshole.
Yeah, I'm a sucker for punishment, I guess.
It's dark when I get there, of course, but across the street at the park, there's a softball game, bright white lights illuminating the field and giving me something to look at as I swing slowly back and forth, my feet dragging in the wood chips.
I think I've just about cried myself out for today. For a few hours, I convinced myself that he'd come back, but he never showed. And then Monica was suddenly there and it became too real.
Zayden is gone. He left.
I know I shouldn't be surprised because seriously, we've only known each other for two weeks, but I felt something, and I know he did, too. It means something, but it doesn't change anything.
Guess he was right.
I'm crushing hard here, Smarty-Pants.
Gah. I can't think like that, can't let my mind keep repeating all of the things that he said. So what? Zayden will be a page in my history book and that's about it.
My hands squeeze tight around the chains of the swing as my body sways back and forth and I let my eyes slide closed, skin prickling at the memory of his warmth, his mouth pressed against my throat, his body pushing inside of mine.
“Fuck.”
I open my eyes and make myself focus on the game, on the crack of the bat and the cheering of the small crowd. I think it's the local adult softball league over there, but the people watching must be dedicated if I can hear them shouting from all the way over here.
The rattle of a car pulling into one of the spaces behind me, draws my attention. This park has been known to have its fair share of weirdos and bums at night, and I'm not about to end a crappy day with an even crappier mugging.
The sound of a car door opening is followed by an inhuman scream, like some sort of dying animal in the safari, one that's being torn apart by a lion.
My head whips around to find Zayden climbing out of his Geo, leaning in to shush … someone. Hubert maybe?
My breath catches and my heart starts to thunder as I whip my head back around and stare into the darkness of the forest. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. What the hell is he doing here?
“Smarty-Pants,” Zayden says, jogging up to me and coming around to the front of the swings to bend down. He's panting and he looks both excited and nervous as hell.
I feel like I'm about to throw up on his shoes.
Zayden puts his hands on his knees and tilts his head to the side, his hair a floppy mess. But even from here I can smell that blackberry and cinnamon scent of his.
My eyes open wide, wide, wide in an attempt not to cry again.
I try to play it cool.
“What do you want, Zayden?”