Breathe. Breathe. Don't think. Breathe. Breathe. Did I sign that paperwork the office sent over? Breathe. Breathe. Have to check that escrow deal. Breathe. Breathe. God, what is she doing right now? How did this get so fucked up. I knew I should have fucking listened to myself and kept walking – DON'T THINK. Breathe. Breathe.
While Wulfric Stone's natural habitat was an Olympic sized swimming pool, it wasn't the only form of exercise he got – he had a stressful job, he had lots of different ways of burning off the tension. Running came a close second to swimming for clearing his head. It created a different sort of burn in his muscles, produced a whole new plethora of aches and pains.
Sometimes, when he was particularly angry about something, he preferred it over swimming. With the swimming, after doing a couple miles worth of laps he could just float away. Literally. Lay on his back and be weightless for a while.
Not with running, though. How cruel – a sport that takes a person miles away from their starting point, and then when they push themselves too hard, they still have to turn around and do the same distance back. Feel like collapsing? No weightless pond to float in. No, the best case scenario meant hopefully finding a cool patch of grass to fall onto and praying his muscles didn't cramp up, all while gravity put pressure on every limb.
Yes, running was a very punishing sport, and Wulfric Stone was a very bad man who definitely deserved some punishing.
Breathe. Breathe.
His calves were burning and sweat was pouring down his body. He was pretty sure his lungs were getting ready to stage a coup and walk out on him. Still, he kept pushing, pounding his feet down harder against the ground.
How can I breathe when everything is so wrong?
Wulf let out a frustrated shout and ripped his earphones off. This wasn't working. He slowed to a stop. He knew it was a bad idea, he should jog for a while, reducing his pace slowly, but fuck it. Running away from his problems clearly wasn't helping. Maybe a massive charley horse would successfully distract him.
Or maybe it would give him a heart attack, that would be perfect.
He veered off the pathway, heading straight into the woods. A breeze hit his sweat slicked-skin, causing him to shiver. He grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and brought it to his forehead, mopping up the perspiration. When he lowered the material, he glanced around and realized he'd wandered so far that he couldn't see where the trail was anymore.
Good. Maybe I'll be lost in here forever. That would solve everything. Jesus, how did everything get so fucked up?
It was a rhetorical question, Wulf knew the answer. He had fucked it all up. Broken his own rules, gone against his own advice, and look what had happened. He was a mess, wandering around in the woods, cursing at trees.
And what was worse – he could've avoided it all. He'd known just how bad the ending between them could be, he'd seen it all unraveling from early on, and he'd tried to avoid it by doing what he did best. Being an asshole. After all, if he told her about their little scam, she'd leave him. If he didn't tell her and she found out, she'd leave him. If Liam told her, she'd leave him. It was very clear to Wulf that the only possible outcome was Katya leaving him.
So, like a true gentleman, Wulf had left her first.
Why did she come back? If she'd just stayed away, everything would be fine. Fucking fine.
Except it wouldn't be fine. He'd be a shell of man – or at least, a worse version than the one he'd already been – and she'd be convincing herself Liam was the perfect guy for her. Wulf couldn't stand that thought. Couldn't bear the idea of Liam touching her and kissing her and seeing her naked and making her sigh and gasp.
“AH!”
His fist slammed into the tree before he even knew his arm was moving. He hadn't pulled the punch at all, striking the trunk as hard as he could, but Wulf barely felt anything. He was numb.
So he hit it again. And again. And didn't stop till blood was running down his fist, and even then, he still didn't feel a thing. It was only the red staining his white t-shirt that gave him pause.
Of course I didn't feel anything. I'm Wulfric Stone, and stones don't have feelings.
Crimson liquid ran down the back of his hand, stark against his pale skin. Like turning the channel on a television from black-and-white to Technicolor. It shocked him a little, seeing his own blood like that. He finally looked up and took in his surroundings.
Jesus, I'm brooding in the woods and hitting trees. When did I turn into this person?
For the first time since Katya had walked away from him, he stood outside of himself and looked in on the situation.
He'd sent her text messages. He'd sent flowers. He'd gone to her apartment once, only to be turned away by her rabid roommate. Nothing worked, Katya had completely frozen him out.
And I just let her.
That wasn't like him. Since when did Wulfric Stone ever accept no for an answer? Since when did he pout and sulk and whine? When did throwing temper tantrums in the middle of the woods become the norm?
He turned in a circle, searching for the way back to the trail. He was breathing fast, his mind racing at a million miles an hour. Since she'd walked away, he hadn't been acting like himself.
So of course nothing was working. She'd started to fall in love with him, she'd claimed. The man he'd been before she'd left. Brash and rude and ballsy and demanding. The kind of man who kicked down doors, and ignored anything he didn't like, and always got what he wanted.
As he started jogging through the underbrush, he laughed at himself. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized it sooner. This whole time, he'd been asking himself what she needed from him to make things right. What she would want him to do. He hadn't been asking the right questions, not at all.
What would Wulfric Stone do?
3
Liam “Eden” Edenhoff stared at his computer screen.
Holy shit. Goddammit. Holy shit.
Katya Tocci stared back at him. Only she didn't look like the Katya he knew. Not the sweet, semi-innocent, cake-baking, lovable goddess.
The girl on the computer was pouting her red lips at him while her bedroom eyes screamed “fuck me”. To say she looked transformed was an understatement. He'd never seen her in clothing like that, so sexy. It was strange. He'd seen her naked and in all sorts interesting positions, but somehow the tight shorts and crop top were almost more provocative.
She could turn heads when she was just slumming it in pajamas and hanging out at home. Sexified and wearing slutty makeup? Liam's mouth had gone dry, which made him nervous. If her picture was having this effect on him, what were all the other thousands of men on the Eros dating site thinking?
How many matches has she made? How many dudes has she anger-banged? No, she wouldn't do that. Shit, would she? Shit.