Page 44 of Muddy Messy Love

Knocked from my trance, I turn to see Hannah standing beside me, staring curiously. “Sorry, what did you say?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I try to smile reassuringly, but Hannah looks sceptical. “I’m feeling a little off,” I sigh.

“Do you need to go home?”

“I’ll be fine.”

She studies my face. “Take lunch first today, okay?”

God, she’s a gem.

Fumes taint Collins Street’s frosty air as grey clouds loom overhead, dusting Melbourne in a fine mist of rain. I look left and right through the city bustle, determining which direction to flee. Lunch times are still reserved for finding cheap eats nearby. After this morning, a stiff drink beckons, though I’m sure that’s prohibited too.

“Aves.” My name comes muffled and trodden by the crowds, but I’m certain I hear it. I scan the street with a frown. Maybe not.

“Aves.” It comes again. This time clearer, closer, and from behind, with a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and bump face first into a taught, muscular chest. A very familiar one. Hands grip my shoulders, and my blood drains south. It’s like seeing a ghost. A smiling, tan ghost with tribal tattoos and a naughty gleam in his hazel eyes. “Slade. What are you doing here?”

He drags his gaze up my body with a lazy, lopsided grin, frowning when he sees my blue sleeve, but he continues his perusal, licking his lips before meeting my eyes. “Waiting for you, duh.”

“Why?” I ask, scrunching up my sleeves despite the cold. I spent the better part of my weekend stripping Slade from my brain, yet his smirk comes dipped in sin, and my knees wobble. Stupid muscle memory.

With exaggerated disbelief, he shakes his head. “You’re my girl. Why else?”

My chin hits the footpath with a thud. “Your…girl?” Never in our fucked-up relationship has Slade declared I’m his. But now…nowI’m his girl? I grind my molars. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I messaged Liam. He told me.”

“Hedid?” Jen will have his balls.

“When I told him my intentions, yeah. Nice joint, by the way.Fancy.” He looks up at Benedict Kane, and my protective instincts flare.

Crossing my arms, I arch a brow. “Intentions?”

He releases a hefty sigh. Jesus, was he always this dramatic? “Like I said. You’re my girl.”

There it is again. I can’t believe it. Did I somehow teleport to the 1950s? I shake my head and huff a laugh. “I’m not your girl, Slade. Not sure I ever was.” Nudging past his chest, I start up Collins Street. I don’t know where I’m going but refuse to deal with more crazy today. It must be a full moon.

Slade chases me, sidestep bouncing down the footpath like an athlete warming up. “What are you talking about?”

After months of pining for this guy and all the tears that fell, I could’ve sworn I’d fall back into his arms should they ever reopen. But now—with my nerves already frayed and temper still warm from this morning—anger strikes me like lightning, and I’mpissed. At him. At myself. For all the months I wasted in limbo, waiting for his late-night visits. All the trouble I stupidly found cool. For letting him use me as a convenient piece of arse.

For giving him what I never should have.

He hurt me. In all kinds of ways. And I let him.

Stopping dead, I turn to face him, prodding his chest with my finger. “What am I talking about? Zoe. How about we discuss Zoe? You know, yourgirlfriend. The one who knocked me out.”

Slade cringes. “That’s over. I’m not with her anymore. I loveyou.”

Love?Now I cringe. Never have I heard the word delivered so emptily. “Bullshit.” I turn to walk away, but Slade grabs my bicep.

“No shit. I dumped Zoe when I found out she hurt you.”

Unlike theLword, this part rings true. His eyes plead as rain sheens his skin and dots his T-shirt with tiny crystal beads. Those words are everything I’ve longed to hear but now sorely inadequate. Too little, too late.My bones ache at the realisation and tears return.

Why did he have to wait so damn long?

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