Page 20 of The Finish Line

Bastard.

The fatigue has finally set in from lack of sleep, and mostly because I stayed up staring at the fucking French Adonis who took up over half of my queen mattress last night wearing nothing but black boxers. He is a dangerous temptation, his profile and build—all hard lines and thickly muscled curves—mesmerizing in half-light. His construct just as incredible as it was when we were together, maybe more so now. His surreal looks are just as distracting as they were before, threatening to replace my resentment with desire. And the minute I woke up from a dream that left me raw and aching, my first instinct was to pull him to me, to wrap myself inside him, and never let go. Oh, how much I wanted to touch. So much so I had to leave my own bed to get away from him. From his smell of citrus and spice. From any familiarity that might bring me comfort.

Because fuck that, I refuse to make it easy for him.

He wants another chance, but he’s had years of chances to come back to me. He refused me at every turn in Triple Falls, forced me to let him go. Purposefully, he let me walk out of his office and his life.

And he’s right. No matter his reasons, no matter how justified, they’ll all be excuses for me at the moment.

I deserve more.

I will hold out for more, no matter how gloriously beautiful he is. No matter how many times over the years I dreamt of him coming back to me and saying the things he said. His words from yesterday cross my mind.

“I couldn’t look away.”

No matter how much the words mean, I’m no longer a teenage girl or twenty-something woman who’d had her first mind-blowing orgasm gifted by a beautiful, smooth-talking man. Been there, have the tear-soaked pillowcases and blood-stained clothes to prove it.

“Cecelia.” Travis, my short-order cook, booms from behind the cutout steel window in the kitchen, making me jump where I stand.

I glare at him, and he winces. “Sorry, you weren’t hearing me. Order up.”

“Chill.” Marissa grabs the plate from the hot bar and walks it over to Greg. She gives me a curious glance once it’s delivered, as does Greg. Annoyed by the scrutiny and refusing to look again toward the parking lot, I retreat through the double doors of the kitchen toward my office for a timeout, wishing for the first time in months I had a joint to smoke.

It’s minutes later, when I’m safely behind my desk, that Marissa bursts through the office door, a look of utter shock on her face that lets me know I’m not getting off so easily. She darts her eyes around the office in panic, chest heaving before she leaps for her purse.

“Jesus by the river,” she says, brushing a week’s worth of gloss across her lips, standing at the threshold of my office door. “Please tell me the man that just got out of your Camaro is your adopted brother.”

Loathing the relief I feel, I slide my chair back, second-wind determination running through me as she looks at me with wide-eyed hope, while Travis grunts something unintelligible behind her.

“It’s complicated.”

“That tells me nothing.” She’s hot on my heels as I toss my shoulders back and push through the double doors.

Chapter Five

Tobias

I gather the few bags I need to set up shop before making my way inside. Upon entering, it’s nothing like I expected. Though Meggie’s sits in a ratty-looking building in an outdated shopping center, the interior, including the paint and the furnishings, are new and somehow distinctly Cecelia. Inside, it’s a complete one-eighty in feel from the pothole-filled parking lot and chipped and faded paint of the building. It’s cozy. The wall colors are a mix of burnt sienna and azure. Black and white photographs hang throughout with price plaques floating next to them; no doubt, Cecelia’s attempt to help support local artists. Large bookshelves line the far walls, and oversized chairs are situated to create a reading nook. There’s an internet bar and stools along the floor-to-ceiling rows of windows. Cozy booths and tables sit throughout the middle of the café designating the dining area.

Dominic would have loved it here.

It’s the same thought I had when I entered her house yesterday. Guilt blinds me briefly as I try to switch gears when I spot her in the center of the bar pouring coffee, just as her eyes lift to mine.

It’s an arrow straight through the burn, and the hole isn’t small.

Fuck, I’ve missed her.

Breaking our stare-off, she paces the counter refilling drinks before stopping just in front of the man I take a chair next to. As I retrieve my new laptop from the box, she sets down a cup of coffee in front of me and a menu while I power it up.

“Thought you were on vacation,” she mumbles before setting a check on the counter in front of the suit next to me.

“This is my vacation laptop,” I assure her and open the menu, reading the selections.

“Right,” she says dryly before walking off. Zeroing in on her, I sense I’m not alone in doing so and stiffen when I glance at the suit before following his line of sight. The plastic on the menu squeaks around my fingers as white fire thrums through me. He’s got my attention. Decent looking, close to my age, and he’s not here for the fucking coffee.

Mr. Fucking. Handsome.

I’ve never killed a man in cold blood or out of jealousy. Something tells me today should not be the day I get to check it off my list.

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