Page 21 of The Finish Line

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” I ask, plugging my laptop into one of the ready outlets beneath the counter.

“Am I that obvious? I’ve been here every day this week.”

“That so?”

He nods before lifting his cup in salute. “Greg.”

“Tobias.”

“That a French accent? You sure are a long way from home.”

Cecelia glances our way, eyes our exchange before her attention drifts back to me, lingers, and darts away.

“Actually, I’m right where I need to be. Just moved here.” I turn to him in the hoodie and jeans I picked up from the discount superstore. I’m dressed like a fucking teenage boy due to slim options. Casanova is in a suit.

“There’s something about her—” his smile deepens—“I feel like a creeper coming back like this, but she’s...” I can hear the curiosity in his voice. Each word spoken might as well be lighter fluid he’s dousing me with. “I’m going for it.” Cecelia uses that moment to approach us and genuinely smiles at the motherfucker, before turning to me.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” I manage through clenched teeth. “Breakfast was shit.”

Day one, Tobias. Day one. No dead bodies on day one.

She’s completely clueless to the attention she’s getting. Or is she? Her to-do list makes that theory shit, but she won’t be fucking to-doing Greg. Not to-fucking-ever.

“Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“Cecelia,” suit dick addresses, an over-confident smile on his face as he stands and pulls out a twenty to cover his check. Cheap fuck. Knowing what’s coming, I see the panic in her eyes a millisecond before she schools her features. She’s gotten a lot better at bluffing, but I’m the master of bullshit detection. She wants no part of Greg or the offer that’s coming, but that doesn’t lessen the urge to imprint the Apple logo of my newly purchased Mac into his skull.

“I was wondering if I could take you to dinner?”

Logged into a new email account, I click to compose while keeping my tone even. “The first time I saw her, she was eleven.” They both turn to me, but I continue typing, not sparing a glance at either one of them. “She was nothing but a little girl, but she was mine to protect from this fucked-up world. Mine to look out for. Mine to care for.”

“Tobias,” Cecelia hisses in warning.

“She came in later like a fucking wrecking ball and obliterated the image of the little girl I remembered. I claimed her then as mine to have, mine to touch, mine to possess, fucking mine.”

Cecelia shuts her eyes, fisting her hands on the counter.

I lift my eyes to Greg, who looks like he’s about to shit his silk boxers.

“And so, I would very much appreciate it if you would stop fucking looking at my future as if she may be yours. The answer is no, Greg, she won’t be dining with you.”

Greg nods. “I apologize, I really had no idea. She isn’t wearing a ring.”

I tap the mousepad to open a new email. “Leave your address, and we’ll send you a save the date.”

“Tobias, enough,” Cecelia scolds. “Greg, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He lifts his tweed jacket, pussy, from the stool next to him and tosses his voice my way. “You’re a lucky man, Tobias. See you around, Cecelia.”

“Come back, Greg,” she urges, her gaze lingering on him for ten fucking seconds too long as he makes his way out the door, whistling like a nutjob.

My laptop is slammed on my working hands before I’m face-to-face with violent dark blue waters.

That’s right, baby, fight me.

“If you’re going to go all caveman, you can leave. That’s not going to fly here.”

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