Page 28 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

“You know, Wick. He was here earlier.” He leans around the railings to call up to me. “Brought me a bottle of Blue Label. Nice guy. Well done on that one.”

“You’re a damn traitor, John!” I holler from the landing.

My apartment door slams shut before I hear his reply. Inside my tiny one bedroom apartment, nothing seems amiss.

Dishes are still drying on the rack.

Mail on the side table by the door.

No time to search now.

Quick feet and faster hands toss as much as I can into a bag so I can rabbit before Wick comes back.

And I change Vi’s contact info in my phone so I don’t accidentally confuse them.

Purses and shoe boxes fly as I dig my duffle out of the back of my closet. It was so nicely organized, but I’m in too much of a hurry and stress overrides the impulse to keep it pretty.

The phone chirps, but I ignore it. He’s probably getting to the hotel and realizing I’m gone.

Underwear, socks, shirt, pants—great handfuls are indiscriminately tossed into the duffel. I ditch my heels for sneakers I know are by the door but don’t bother to change otherwise.

The phone chirps again, but I don’t have time for Wick when I’m busy running from him.

I knock the entire line of my products in the bathroom into the duffel and toss my hair products in.

Two quick beeps sound in quick succession from my phone.

The man is inescapable. He isn’t even here, yet for some reason he can still annoy me.

An irrational, petty part of my hindbrain wants to torment him right back. Anxious Annie overrides Cautious Annie and lets Reckless Annie have a steam vent for some of the tension.

Before I can think better of it, I climb into my already rumpled bed and wrap the comforter around myself. I roll up like a burrito and exhale as I rub my face on it.

If he wants my scent, then I’ll gladly tease him with what he isn’t getting.

The phone chirps again.What does this fucker want?

Shimmying my phone out of my pocket but still encased in cotton, I open the messages.

Dammit!I poke my head out of the roll and frantically search the room. I don’t see any cameras, but he has to have them somewhere.

“Can you hear me, Wick?” I ask.

The phone beeps again.

“You’re insufferable,” I mutter.

I wrestle with the cotton to unroll from the blankets. I need to get moving before he comes back.

The phone buzzes again, but this time it’s an incoming call.

“I’m not picking up,” I say to the empty room while struggling with the sheets.

But the phone doesn’t stop. It rings to voicemail and immediately starts again. Frustrated, I hit the green flashing button to answer the call on speakerphone.

“I’m busy,” I growl.

“I’m aware. It’s adorable watching you struggle to get free.”

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