Page 183 of Heart So Hollow

And I’m glad she does, because it’s a welcome distraction and she’s so tuned up about it that she doesn’t notice what a basket case I’m being. I can’t imagine what she’d say if she knew what was really on my mind.

A few minutes later, Bowen walks behind the sofa and drops Barrett’s phone into her lap, “It works now. You didn’t turn on your location permissions, so your geofencing wasn’t working. It thought you were still home.”

“Yesss…” Barrett hisses with relief, “Great, now if you come by tomorrow, I can have coffee and security,” she flashes a smile, “Thanks, Bowen.”

“Anytime,” he chuckles as she busies herself with checking her app again.

He continues around the back of the sofa, stopping to lean over my shoulder. He reaches around and curls his hand over the front of my throat, tilting my head back to look at him, “Can I kiss you,” he murmurs, hovering over my face, “or do I have to shower and brush my teeth first?”

I grab the back of Bowen’s head and press his lips into mine. He eagerly opens his mouth the second that he feels my tongue slide between his lips. And I love kissing him so much, I don’t even mind the bitter, acidic taste on his tongue. It’ll be gone soon, anyway.

Bowen moves his head to the side and leans into my ear, “I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight, baby girl,” he whispers with a grin, “I told Jay what you’re like. Now he wants to see it.”

My jaw drops and my eyes dart over my shoulder to Bowen. Before I can say anything, he stands up and saunters backward toward the hallway. Then he waggles his eyebrows before turning around and disappearing into the darkness. I turn back to the TV with an eyeroll. For once, I hope Bowen’s messing with me. Because, if that’s true, I can never look Jay in the eyes again. I cringe and laugh to myself. That can’t be real—for so many reasons.

What you’re like…

Maybe next time Bowen can leave his gun where it belongs and Colson can stop threatening to step straight into my relationship with Bowen. As if he hasn’t already…I can’t even think about it without my muscles tensing and starting to shiver as the adrenaline starts pumping through them. It feels like planets threatening to collide.

But one thing is for sure, I have to stop this. I have to end it.

Now.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Brett

One Year Ago

It doesn’t matter how many times I refresh my email, there still aren’t any messages from literary agents. It still hasn’t been that long—I know that. But I also don’t have any idea how this really works. Is it like college applications where you at least get a rejection letter, or is it like job applications where employers ghost you and you descend into HR hell? Maybe if I can keep fixating on my inbox and ignore everything else, I’ll be able to stay sane a little while longer.

There haven’t been any more smoothies appearing in places they don’t belong. Or creepy texts. Granted, every time my phone vibrates, I’m still terrified it’ll be a text from an unknown number. Colson hasn’t texted me in a while, either. Then again, he doesn’t text much, anyway—at least from his number. If he does, it’s usually random questions or Dallas asking him to tell me something. But, now, he’s contented to just see me at work, almost as if he prefers to speak to me in person.

But I don’t see him today, because I make a point to avoid him. Not necessarily because I want to, but because the more I see him, the more likely something incredibly inappropriate will happen. So, I bounce from office to office for half the day, spending most of my time in Abby’s office, until I finish my on-site tasks and flee back to my house.

I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to avoid things, whether they’re people or situations.

My mood improves significantly when I walk through the front door and lock the deadbolt behind me. Aside from the one morning I found the smoothie in the fridge, nothing too strange has happened here lately. If I can keep all the weirdness on the other side of the property line, I consider that a success.

When the front door opens unexpectedly, I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen and tilt my head back on the sofa cushion. It’s Bowen, and he’s home way earlier than usual. My mouth stretches into a broad grin as he drops his backpack next to the door and saunters into the living room.

“I still can’t get used to that,” he says as he collapses onto the cushion next to me.

I shut my laptop and set it down on the coffee table, deciding I won’t get anything else done today, “Get used to what?”

Bowen raises his arm and waits for me to curl into his chest, then he turns and looks down at me, “That goddamn beautiful smile,” he drawls, his smile widening the longer he looks at me.

“I’m glad you’re home,” I say softly, running my fingers across the top of his forearm.

Bowen presses his mouth against my forehead and takes a deep breath. Usually, Bowen’s silence is comforting and devoid of awkwardness, but something is different this time. When I pull back and look up at him, he’s gazing out the glass doors with a faraway look in his eyes.

“What?” I look him up and down, “What’s wrong with you?”

He lets out a scoff, “Um,” his eyes roll over the ceiling and finally settle on me, “I have to talk to you about something.”

I don’t like his tone and my stomach drops as soon as he opens his mouth. But that’s what happens when someone says, we have to talk, right? If it weren’t a bad sign, they would just say what they have to say.

I lower my eyes to my knees, “What is it?”

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