Page 22 of Boarded Hearts

Me

If this message barely makes sense, it’s because I only have the use of three fingers and one eye. Never again.

Ha! I guess no booze at lunch.

No booze again. Period.

Fine by me. See you later, XOXO

Battling my body to the bathroom, I brush my teeth and throw my straggly hair into a messy bun and pad into the kitchen. The display of empty wine bottles on the counter acts as an unwelcome reminder of last night’s handiwork and another wave of nausea rolls through my stomach. Breakfast is what I need, starting with coffee.

Ten minutes later I’m perched on a barstool armed with bacon, waffles, syrup, and my second mug of black coffee. My stomach instantly wants to reject everything, but I fight through. I only have myself to blame, and that’s the worst part of a hangover—knowing it's self-inflicted.

Despite my pain this morning, last night did provide a welcome distraction from my repetitive, bordering on obsessive, thoughts of Jon. I’ve replayed that moment on the gym bench over and over, the way he casually straddled it and shifted his body toward mine, leaning in to wipe my forehead. His gentle touch felt like a branding iron, and the way his eyes searched mine…my thighs pinch together as I recall it all. I’ve never been touched so tenderly and to be honest, it freaked me out. My body raged with my head, wanting to lean forward and let him kiss me, take me, have his way with me. But I panicked and practically ran out of his apartment. Since then, I’ve pretty much had radio silence aside from him adding me on social media and liking a few of my posts. We’ve exchanged a few texts, but I feel like he’s backing off.

But that’s what I want, right?

It might be the remnants of the wine or maybe my heart outmaneuvering my head but fuck it. I pick up my phone and decide no harm in dropping him a quick message. I know they got beaten down last night so maybe I can make him smile.

Me

Hey. Hope Colorado is treating you okay. Sorry about last night’s result.

I hit send and stare down at the screen, the anticipation of a reply not sitting well with my breakfast and hangover.

A minute or so later three dots appear indicating he’s typing a response. Christ, I’m giddy at three dots; get a grip, Felicity. But just as soon as they appear, they disappear again. They come back once more, but no reply surfaces. I busy myself clearing away, but after another five minutes, there’s still no message. I won’t lie, it’s kind of disappointing, but perhaps he’s busy. Intrigue gets the better of me though, and before I know it, I’m bringing up his socials.

It’s hard to describe what I feel when my IG news feed opens. The nausea I felt this morning is dwarfed by the wretched feeling taking hold in the pit of my stomach. Post upon post, image after image, video after video of Jon making out with a gorgeous brunette, probably young enough to be my daughter. Some are of her on his lap, Jon leaning down to talk in her ear, others of her straddling him as they kiss, intensely. But it’s the footage of her slender legs wrapped around his waist as he’s standing and gripping her thighs tightly that breaks me. Only minutes ago, I messaged him, opening the door to my heart ever so slightly. Well, now I know why I haven’t received a response. He’s probably shacked up in some hotel with her. I guess I was right when I presumed he was too busy to reply.

My upset is happily replaced with pure rage. I can’t believe I nearly fell for his antics and better yet, was actually tempted to fall into bed with this guy. To become another notch on his bedpost.

Stupid girl.

I snatch my phone back up, never wanting to see those images again, and hastily deactivate every social media account I can think of. I need those pictures out of my life, just like I do Jon Morgan.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JON

The thud as the plane wheels touch down in nighttime Seattle lurches my head forward, breaking me from my semi-conscious state.

I didn’t sleep at all last night. Jessie, Jensen, and I left the bar shortly after all hell broke loose and Koala Girl and her accomplice made their escape. The guys only needed to take one look at me to know something was very wrong. I appreciate them, and while I’ve always known deep down that they’re great guys, they really came through for me last night.

We walked back to the hotel and made straight for Zach’s room, crashing his and Amie’s Facetime which I kind of felt bad about, kind of didn’t. Zach’s solution was simple. Call her and get ahead of her seeing the posts and call my agent and try to block the images from spreading. I’d already been in touch with my agent the moment those girls left the bar with the footage. Like I said, this isn’t my first rodeo, but I knew I needed to get in touch with Felicity just in case any slipped through the net.

But by the time I got back to my room, I started replaying everything in my mind, from what she would say to how she would react. While she has social media, she’s mentioned to me before that she isn’t a big user, and she still hasn’t followed me back so, perhaps, she won’t see anything until I can get to her and explain everything face-to-face. I want her to look me in the eyes and see my truth about what really happened; it's my best chance to get her to understand.

So here I am, a mess, running on zero sleep, and a desperate man. It’s not lost on me how gone I am for this woman I barely know. But I am, and I can’t stop thinking about her. I haven’t been able to stop since that moment at the stadium, that little squeal, her intoxicating coconut scent, her soft skin against mine. The way she flinched as she felt my touch that day in the gym. The fact that I know she felt it too, the connection, the sexual energy searing between us. And I’ve fucked it all up before I even got started.

“Just call her,” Zach repeats for the tenth time in as many hours. He hands me my carry-on bag from the overhead locker, and we head for the exit ramp. “She already texted you this morning, so even if she hasn’t seen the images, she’s going to think something’s wrong if you don’t reply.”

“Okay, and say what? Sorry I had my hands all over another woman last night, but I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to be with you, even though all the pictures say completely the opposite. It’s not what it looked like? Because that line works every time.”

Whichever way I look at this I feel totally fucked. I want to beat the shit out of something, but instead, I run an agitated hand through my hair, pulling hard at the roots, hoping the pain will relieve some of my desperation.

Zach stops halfway down the ramp, turning to me, his finger lifted in the air. “Look, the way I see it is you have two options. One, forget her. Forget you even laid eyes on the girl and move on. Chalk the whole experience up to bad luck and timing.” He lifts another finger. “Two. Go after her, call her, message her, tell her what happened, and set the record straight.”

I bite my bottom lip and drop my head.

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