Page 110 of Perfect Pursuit

I turn my head to meet his. My voice is noticeably cooler when I ask, “Yes?”

“If I had another hour with your mother, I’d give up everything to take it.” His eyes harden. “If you’re given one, don’t be a fool and waste it.”

Wincing at the memory of our confrontation in the parking lot of Devil’s Lair, I cringe. She’s been steeping in pain, agony, and bitterness for the last two weeks. I wonder if there’s a chance in hell of getting Fallon to talk to me before she slams the door in my face.

The answer is simple. I didn’t trust my heart.

Now, I have to try to get Fallon to listen to me. It’s hers to do with what she will.

It always will be hers.

No one else’s.

CHAPTER SIXTY

DJ Kensington, her husband, and her parents were spotted in their hometown having a beer at a local dive named Rodeo Ralphs. Locally famous for their ghost pepper wings, the three native Texans dove in while being monitored by Kensington’s husband.

—Viego Martinez, Celebrity Blogger

For years, even as I fought against the electricity that simmered between me and Fallon, I never expected to find the depth of the woman beneath the self-deprecating sense of humor, the mocking insinuations, and brilliant mind. All too soon, she disappeared.

Out of my sphere.

She should have been out of my mind, but that wasn’t how it worked.

Instead, I found myself consumed with where she was and what she was doing. I had an overwhelming need to stake a claim on her and, in fighting it, lost my damn mind. I wasted years keeping us trapped in between two electronic boxes because I was too stupid to realize the people who loved us, truly loved us, wouldn’t give a damn about anything except our happiness. I forced us into assigned roles I’d designated for us out of what? Fear? Fear of what? Falling in love? I did that anyway and look where it got me.

By forcing us to remain captive, I never gave us a chance to become who we were supposed to be. I stole from us our chance at true happiness.

Then, because of my fears, at the first sign of my world crashing down, when I believed she did something that didn’t jive with the woman I’d built up on the screen of my phone, I didn’t just knock her off the pedestal I’d made out of computer towers and anchored with wires. I took a sledgehammer to the whole monument I’d built her up on. “Overreacted isn’t a strong enough word for what you did,” I berate myself.

Since I walked out of the family dinner a few nights ago, I’ve researched the fuck about phone sex operators. Christ, most of them are so clinical about it. It’s like they’ve mentally disconnected themselves from their clients. Is that what Fallon was like with her callers? Thinking of it like that makes what we did together on those calls easier to swallow.

That she picked green because it was easy to remember.

That she chose lace because she happened to be wearing it.

That she used that memory because we’d just talked about it. Even then, she didn’t taint it, I realize. She changed it.

Fuck, if what I’m reading is right, she was likely on a treadmill to get the breathless pants out at just the right moment. I’m so disgusted with myself that I want to get on a plane as fast as possible to apologize. If everything I’ve found is true, what’s the worst she did? Talk dirty to some mega-wealthy people to fulfill their fantasies to save her mother’s life?

Caused me to get aroused because I knew it was her?

My inner voice admonishes me sharply, Isn’t the greater sin yours because you knowingly betrayed her?

I shove the thought to the back of my mind. First things first, I corral myself. Fallon. She’s all that matters and she’s in pain. Take care of your woman.

As for what I hurled at her, who the fuck am I to judge if she wanted more money even if it wasn’t for the most noble of reasons? After Thorn confirmed Fallon was in no way behind the attempted extortion, I should have had a discussion with her instead of acting like a spoiled man-child.

Again, I hate admitting that motherfucker was right.

Relegated again to donkey work of searching the dark web for more information about the trafficking ring and Devil’s Lair, I can’t ask for updates the way I demanded them before.

I royally fucked myself with my woman and my employer because of what?

I mumble, “Jealousy. Sheer unadulterated jealousy.”

Jesse’s voice intrudes my thoughts. “Well, it’s about time you admitted to it, brother.”

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